


A Week off the Grid

by fiacresgirl



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Summer of Olicity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:38:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 58,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4181847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiacresgirl/pseuds/fiacresgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In response to Oliver's challenge, Felicity attempts to live a week off the grid at an "authentic nineteenth century" B&B where they stumble across a boy in serious trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While this piece of fanfiction is largely about Oliver and Felicity and how they navigate their relationship as it begins to be romantic, there is, in the course of story, some references to and one depiction of child abuse and child sexual abuse. It is not gratuitous, but if you want to skip that, do not read Chapter 13.

The open road was still gorgeous, and it was lush and verdant in whatever part of middle America they were now in. The branches of the trees overhung the road and the leaves smothered out the sky, so green they made his eyes hurt a little. The corn they’d passed earlier was waist high. Felicity made them get out of the car and take a selfie. It was waist high on her, at least. The earth of that cornfield had been warm and still soft from an earlier rain. Felicity’s ponytail needed a wash now. His knees were dirty too.

Yeah, the road was open and smelled of warm tar and adventure, but Oliver was a little tired of pumping gas and waking up in motel rooms. They stopped at a diner in Greenville to have breakfast, and a sign pinned to the corkboard by the door caught his eye.

 **Authentic Farm Living**  
**Anderson Family Farm**  
**Experience life the way it used to be...entirely off the grid.**  
**This is not your average Bed and Breakfast.**  
**Good food, friendly people, animals, plenty to do.**  
**5 miles south of the Bricker Road/M-67 exchange.**  
**Come stay with us and relive history with our family.**

Off. The. Grid.

Could he get her to do it? Oliver had figured out possibly a majority of her weaknesses and pressure points this last month. At this moment he thought there was very little he could not get her to do with the right _incentive_ , but putting her tablet away for an entire week? It would be a tough sale. Brutal even, maybe.

The picture, though, looked absolutely idyllic. An old Victorian, the house had long, narrow clapboards painted peach, and the trim was turquoise and white. A porch wrapped itself all the way around, its spindled railing topped with flower pots and, above those, hanging baskets trailing small coral petunias. Three little blond girls, dressed in turquoise gingham pinafores held hands on the stairs leading up to the front door.

Oliver unpinned the flyer from the board and walked to the back of the restaurant and their booth. He smiled at Felicity, a two-dimple smile, and slid into her side. “Hey,” he said and kissed her low on her cheek, right by her ear.

Felicity gave a tiny squirm, scooched a bit toward the back of the booth, and narrowed her eyes slightly at him. “What ya got there?” She grabbed her Diet Coke from the table and took a long sip.

Yeah, maybe that hadn’t been so subtle. Oliver dialed it back a bit. “What’s the plan for tomorrow? Were you thinking motel again tonight?” he asked, leaning back into the bench and holding the flyer away from her.

“The alternative being?” Felicity asked.

“Well,” Oliver said, “There’s something just outside of town here that looks like it could be fun.”

“Oliver,” Felicity said, “Your definition of fun and my definition of fun occasionally do not intersect.”

“It’s a B&B. We haven’t done that yet. Old Victorian. There are horses,” he said. He didn’t know Felicity’s opinion of horses yet. This hadn’t yet come up on their road trip. Thea loved horses, though. Horses seemed like a safe enough selling point.

“Horses,” Felicity said. “Do I seem like a horse girl to you?” She raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not a horse girl?” Oliver asked.

“Actually, I do like horses...theoretically,” Felicity said. “My sixth grade class took a trip once to a horse farm. It was nice. I got to pet one. I wouldn’t call myself a horse girl, though.”

“There are other things too,” Oliver said. “It’s an authentic nineteenth century farm bed and breakfast. There are lots of animals, homemade biscuits and gravy, and I think there might be quilts.”

“Quilts,” she said, trying to get a look at the flyer.

“Quilts, yeah,” Oliver said. He put the flyer down next to him on the bench. “And other stuff.”

“Oliver, what’s the catch?”

Oliver swallowed. “Well, it says it’s an authentic nineteenth century farm experience so that means…”

“No wifi?”

“No electricity. And no wifi.”

Felicity’s mouth dropped open. “No electricity. At all?”

Felicity was beginning to look mulish, so Oliver changed tactics. “I survived for years without electricity. But maybe you don’t think you can go a few days without it.”

“A few days?” Felicity asked loudly.

“Say a week,” Oliver said. “A week of ‘roughing it’ on a pretty little farm. I could do it in my sleep. You, though…

“You don’t think you can?”

She closed her mouth. “I didn’t say that. I didn’t say that.”

Oliver nodded. He let it sit there, the challenge. He was getting wise to the way Felicity’s mind worked.

“We’d have our own room? And we could pet the horse?”

“Mmhm. Our own cabin, actually, if you want. I think it’s a log cabin with certain amenities. A wood-burning stove, at least. A feather bed.” He raised his eyebrows.

“A week,” she said slowly, working it out. “No tablet. No phone. No hair dryer, no lights.”

“Candlelight,” Oliver said.

“Okay,” Felicity said after a minute. “But can you ride a horse? Because I might have to have you ride the horse. Shirtless. For historical authenticity. On the books all the heroes ride horses. Shirtless.”

“I can ride a horse,” Oliver said.

“Of course you can,” she said. “Because what can’t you do?” She smoothed her fingers through his still shorn hair. “Your hair’s not long enough to blow in the wind, though, so it’s not going to be perfect.”

“It’s going to be perfect,” he said and kissed her, “It’s already perfect.”

>>\--->

The farmhouse was as pretty from the road as it was on the flyer Oliver had shown her, but the Anderson girls weren’t in gingham dresses. One of them was chasing a dog of indeterminate origin around the back yard. An older girl was throwing feed to a flock of chickens that had gathered in the yard, and the third trotted up to the Porshe when Oliver brought it to a stop in the gravel area that seemed designed for parking. Did they use gravel for parking in the nineteenth century, Felicity wondered. Did they park in the nineteenth century? They had to have parked buggies and things. She peered around the yard looking for a buggy. Or a horse.

“Hello!” the girl said brightly from Felicity’s side of the car. Her hair was strawberry blond in person, and it was braided and tied back with a big red ribbon. She had overalls on over a red cotton blouse, and one of her front teeth was missing on top. “I’m May. Are you staying with us?”

“Do you have room available right now, May?” Oliver asked, dimpling at her.

“I think so,” May beamed back at him so wide Felicity noticed she also had a tooth missing on the bottom. “Let me ask my mom.” She turned around and yelled, “Mom!” as she ran toward the house. “Someone’s here! Mom!”

The dog, far off in the front yard, perked its ears up at May’s scream and came running with the girl following behind. Felicity decided to stay in the car for now, but it wagged its way to them, perched its paws on Oliver’s door, panted an easy dog smile, and licked his arm.

“Down, down!” The girl yelled, and then swatted him gently when she caught up. “Sorry! He won’t get you. He’s friendly, he just loves people too much sometimes. My name’s Ivy,” she said. “This is Felix. We called him Felix because he’s so happy. Felix means happy in Latin. ‘ _Felix qui nihil debet_ ,’” she said.

“I’m Oliver,” Oliver said and smiled as he picked up Felicity’s hand, “and this is Felicity. We call her Felicity because she’s so happy.” Felicity rolled her eyes at him, but smiled at the girl.

“Hi, Ivy. Nice to meet you. Do you know if you have a room available to rent? We don’t have a reservation.”

The door to the back porch banged open and a woman in a long skirt came out. She didn’t look terribly authentic nineteenth century in her peasant blouse and gypsy skirt, but she did have long brown hair and a very pleasant smile. She was also heavily pregnant, so that was historically accurate. Probably.

“Come in, come in,” the woman said, “I’m Caroline Anderson, and you’ve already met Ivy and May.” She pointed at the girl surrounded by chickens. “That’s Garnet. My husband, Pete, is out in the garden, or I’d introduce you to him. We do have room by the way. Either in the house or out in the cabin.”

Oliver and Felicity got out of the car. Felix sniffed them both and then saw a squirrel and took off after it. When they reached the porch May smiled down shyly at Felicity. “I like your shoes,” she said. Felicity looked down at her panda flats.

“Thank you,” she said. “I do too. Pandas are my favorite.”

“Mine too,” May said.

Caroline ushered them through the door and into the house. The kitchen had a worn wooden floor, long double-paned windows that reached almost to the floor, and a large cast iron cook stove. “Sit down, sit down! Would you like a glass of lemonade? I just made it.” She brought over a large pitcher and poured them both a glass. Felicity took a sip. It tasted amazing - tart and sweet and lemony. Like summer. Like sunshine.

Oliver had sat down obediently and was sipping his too. “This is delicious, Mrs. Anderson,” he said.

“Caroline,” she said. “My secret is the lemon balm. That and fresh lemons makes it really pop. So do you have a certain amount of time you’d like to stay?”

“A week,” Oliver said.

“Although if you only have a couple of days open,” Felicity said, “I’m sure we could make do.” Oliver gave her a bland look.

“No, we have rooms open this week, although if you’d like to stay in the cabin, we might have to switch you around a bit. There’s a honeymoon couple coming on Saturday evening.”

“We’ll take the cabin now,” Felicity said. “If you have to bump us later in the week, that’s fine.”

“Great!” Caroline said. “I’ll have Ivy take you out there. You know it’s not electrified, right? It’s supposed to be warm all week, but she’ll show you how to work the stove and, of course, the kerosene lamp. There are candles too. Plenty of candles. We get lots of honeymooners. Let me just get your information here. Can I have your names?”

Oliver stood up. “It’s Queen,” he said. “Oliver. And Felicity.”

>>\--->

“You told her our name was Queen,” Felicity said, when Ivy had finally left them alone in the cabin. She’d walked them through all the instructions, including a ten minute explanation on how to light the stove, and Oliver had listened patiently even though the man could probably make a fire from stale Twizzlers.

“My name is Oliver Queen,” he said.

“Yes, but _my_ name isn’t,” she said.

Oliver frowned. “If these people are living _off the grid_ , they’re either religious, countercultural, back-to-the-earthers, or survivalists. They seem nice, but I’d prefer not to have any commentary about how we’re shacking up in their…”

“Shack?”

“Yes,” he said.

“It’s a pretty nice shack, though,” she said because it was. It had log construction, but big, big historically inaccurate Pella windows and a huge bathroom with some kind of composting toilet that actually seemed okay. It didn’t smell, at least.

A cistern outside ran water into a pedestal sink and a clawfoot bathtub. The bed was huge and quilt covered and - thank God - not stuffed with corncobs or hung with ropes or anything like that. The pillows were stuffed with goose down, and two additional Amish-style quilts were folded at the end of the bed on top of a big cedar hope chest.

“Let’s take a walk,” Oliver said and held out his hand. “We’ll check out this place. It’ll be fun.”

>>\--->

The property was large, hundreds of acres, although some of it was wooded. A large flock of sheep was grazing in the field behind the main barn, and off in the distance in a shallow valley they could see a man pushing some mechanical contraption down one row of an enormous garden.

Oliver walked down a tractor path, trying not to scan it for potential danger. This was, after all, the middle of nowhere and no one was after him. Old habits died hard. There was no evidence that anything except the tractor, and probably an old farm truck, had been down this path in awhile, though. It was peaceful.

Eventually they neared a property line. There was a barbed wire fence with “No trespassing” signs hung every so often on it. About a quarter mile from the fence an old house stood, hung with tar paper. Its roof was a near shambles and a dog stood in the yard at the end of a long chain. An Oldsmobile Regency from the early 1980s was propped up on blocks, a pile of rusting tools nearby.

The dog saw them and started barking and pulling at its chain. Felicity jumped. Oliver put a hand on her back. “Let’s move on.”

The tractor path circled around the edge of the Andersons’ property, and at the end of a stand of maples stood an old gray barn. One door was open and inside they could see light streaming in from a hole in the roof. “Probably cat central,” Oliver said.

“Let’s peek inside,” Felicity said, and she moved towards the open door, but before she could step through it, a dark-haired boy brushed past her almost knocking her down. Oliver caught her before she could fall, then twisted to snag the boy, but he had already disappeared into the trees. He walked over to a line of brambles and stood listening for footfalls. It was silent. After a minute or two of scanning, he gave up and turned to see Felicity coming from the barn.

“Oliver,” she said, looking at him in concern, “I think that boy’s living here.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and Oliver decide what to do about the boy in the barn. Oliver splits wood like a boss. And there are chickens! And kale!

Oliver dipped his head to avoid the low doorframe of the barn and stepped carefully inside. It was a small space with four stalls opposite an open area largely filled with scattered junk and the rusty remains of a piece of machinery that looked like it might once have been pulled by a tractor. Or oxen.

“Oliver, here,” Felicity said, and waved him over.

The opening in the roof was at the barn’s far end, but it was large enough to illuminate the entire interior. Diagonally across from it, in the stall farthest away, a wool blanket lay on a bed of field grass. A faded Ninja Turtles pillowcase covered a lumpy pillow that was propped up against the stall wall. On a cracked wooden milk case sat a flashlight, a camouflage water bottle, and some beat up Iron Man comic books. A plate with some dirty cutlery lay on the floor.

Oliver slowly surveyed the stall and then walked around the rest of the barn. He rifled through a box of stuff sitting on the floor, pulling out a pocket knife, a dirty jelly jar glass, some faded jeans, a plaid shirt, and a couple of pair of socks.

“He’s got to be living here,” Felicity said. Oliver nodded.

“Don’t just nod at me,” she said. “That boy is living here in this old barn that’s about to cave in!”

Oliver smacked the butt of one hand against one of the barn’s pillars. “This is solid construction. The beams are in good condition. This thing will still be standing when we’re long gone.”

Felicity huffed out a sigh of exasperation and waved her hand in circles at the roof. “It’s exposed to all the elements.”

“It’s summer,” he said, quirking his mouth. “The weather’s nice.”

“Oliver, the pleasant weather we’re experiencing is not the point. There’s no food here or water. There are no adults here. Where are his parents? Staying here for more than like five minutes is like a guarantee of getting tetanus - we need to call someone.”

Oliver held up a finger. “Felicity, his parents are probably _the reason_ he’s not living with them, but there’s a reason he’s living _here_ too, and Child Protective Services isn’t going to be too concerned with that. We’ll figure it out, and then we can call in the state if we need to.”

“If we need to? Oliver! This child is all alone out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“It’s not the middle of nowhere. We passed a house a little ways down this path, and the farmhouse is only a few miles away.” He walked over and put his hand on the center of her back. “Look, we won’t leave without sorting this out, but - and you may have noticed this - I don’t have the highest opinion of the state’s ability to solve certain problems. The kid looked like he was maybe 14. He’s got his reasons for being here. I’d like to know them before I call the state in to ‘fix it.’”

“But,” she said.

“We’ve got to get out of here. He’s watching us in here right now, and if we don’t leave, he’ll really bolt, and we won’t be able to help him at all.”

“He’s watching us?” Felicity craned her neck to look around the barn. “How do you know?”

“I can feel him out there. I’m not sure where he’s hiding, but it doesn’t matter. We’ve got to go.” He gave the small of her back a rub and then an encouraging little shove.

Felicity planted her feet. “And do what? Sit around? Light the kerosene lamp? Play house?”

“Play house,” Oliver said and smiled crookedly. “Have dinner. Do whatever we were going to do until he relaxes again and I can canvas this area quietly. We’ll walk over to the farmhouse. Maybe May will teach you how to churn butter. You can barter your panda shoes to her for lessons.”

“Churn butter,” Felicity said. “Very funny. You’re going to stake this kid out, and I’m supposed to churn butter. Or quilt, I suppose. Nice.”

“I’m not doing anything today, Felicity. Or tomorrow. The kid’s gotta relax again before I - before we - try to figure this out. If you want, I’ll churn the butter, and you can chop the wood.”

She frowned. “We’ve got to chop wood?”

“It’s _the_ low tech energy source. You want dinner? Heat? Someone’s got to chop some wood.”

She relaxed a bit and slid into his side, curling her arm around his firm bicep. “I vote you chop the wood, and I’ll just sit and watch you. I think that could be better than Netflix, actually. Sweatier, certainly, and visually very stimulating.”

“You do,” he said, his mouth quirking again.

Felicity batted her eyelashes up at him. “I do,” she said. “All right. Let’s go.”

 

>>\--->

 

May did indeed give butter churning lessons, but apparently today’s had already been churned. “We can go collect eggs, though,” she said excitedly. “Our girls are good layers, and we were busy this morning hoeing the garden.”

Felicity was torn between egg duty and wood splitting supervision, so she went over to consult Oliver. He had already split half a stack of wood, and it had been visually stimulating, but he’d refused to take off his shirt, so the effect was a bit muted. “I can’t take it off, Felicity,” he’d said, “I have three tattoos and a brand now, not to mention all of the scars. I look like a thug. Scaring little girls is not on my list of things to do today.”

“You’re not going to scare them, Oliver. How could you scare them? You’re such a softie. I saw you help Ivy bandage Felix’s paw when she was playing Animal Hospital with him and those two rabbits on the back porch.”

Oliver had given her an incredulous look. “Some people do find me intimidating, Felicity,” he said. “Occasionally. And I’d appreciate it if you never told Di- _anyone_ about the rabbits.”

“Bunny ER was absolutely the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, though,” she said. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t-”

“Felicity,” he said warningly. And she’d dropped it because she could only push it so far, and she'd known she was reaching the limit. But now he as he picked up another log, tossed it in one hand, and set it on the stump to split she thought maybe she should have pushed just a little bit further. When he got that dangerous look in his eyes, interesting things tended to happen.

May came up beside her and slid her hand into Felicity’s. “Ready?” she asked.

“Yep,” Felicity said. She blew a kiss at Oliver and he smiled, swung the ax over his head, then slammed it home. With a loud crack, the wood fell apart.

“Get a bunch,” he said. “I love eggs.”

“Me too,” said May and led the way down a short path to a field. In one section a flock of chickens pecked around a patch of mown grass. Chicken wire, nailed to a light wood frame covered them. This was attached to a large chicken coop on wheels. The coop was painted to look like a tiny red barn, and it had a stair piece leading down from the doorway. May led them around to the back of the coop and lifted what looked like half a roof from a rectangular section that jutted out from the coop itself. The hinges squeaked a little as she raised it, but inside the long rectangle were small stalls and lots of eggs.

“These are the laying boxes,” May said. “It’s easy to grab the eggs this way. We don’t have to enter the coop at all which is good ‘cause it can get really stinky in there. It’s Garnet’s job to keep the whole thing cleaned and to move the chicken tractor around every few days.”

“The chicken tractor?”

May waved her hands at the whole set up. “Where the chickens live. They’re protected from predators by the wire screen, but we can move the whole thing around to give them things to eat and stuff to peck at. And they fertilize the ground as they’re doing it. Daddy will plant this section next year or even this fall if he wants.”

Inside one of the stalls a chicken still squatted. Felicity thought she looked irritable - who wouldn’t? - and that it would be better if they left her alone, but May waved a hand at her, “Shoo!” The chicken flapped away, and May grabbed a light green egg out of the hay she’d been laying on.

“See, still warm.” She gave the egg to Felicity. It was. May and Felicity gathered all of the eggs in a basket May had brought along, and then they closed the top again and walked back to the house.

 

>>\--->

 

Oliver was no longer in the yard when they got there. In the kitchen Caroline took the egg basket from her daughter. “A good haul,” she said approvingly. May nodded.

“The bugs must be juicy in that patch,” she said. “I’m going to find Ivy. I think she stole Bedelia.” She flung open the screen door and dashed out before Felicity could wonder who or what a Bedelia was.

Caroline turned to Felicity. “Do you mind helping me cut up a few vegetables?” she asked.

“Not at all,” Felicity said, and Caroline plopped a sharp looking knife and a cutting board shaped like a pig in front of her. She rummaged through the vegetables on the counter and brought over some onions, a big bunch of dill, and some bumpy looking leaves that were dark bluish green.

“It’s dinosaur kale,” Caroline said. “Or that’s what the kids call it because it looks so reptilian. As long as they eat it, I don’t care what they call it.” She took the knife and ran it parallel to the stalks in the leaves. “Cut those out, and then chop up the rest. It’s great for you, but it can be kind of bitter. We hide it in stuff. Tonight it’s going in our salad, and tomorrow in our omelets.”

Felicity took up her knife and slid it down center of a leaf. It was kind of tough; she really had to press down to cut into it.

“So, what do you folks do?” Caroline asked.

Felicity finished de-stalking the kale and started chopping. “I’m in computers, and Oliver is...between jobs right now.”

Caroline gave a frown of sympathy, but Felicity said, “No, it’s okay. His old career was really stressful. He needs some time to reevaluate.”

The other woman nodded. “Pete went through that. He was an investment banker before everything went south. He worked crazy hours, had psychotic competition. He killed in that job, though. He was crazy good.”

Felicity laughed. “Yeah, that sounds a lot like Oliver.”

“Pete made a bunch of money, lost a bunch of money, made some more, and then started feeling like none of it was enough. There was too much risk and not enough reward. After one particularly close call, he took stock, pulled out, and bought this farm. That was right before everything went south. I’d say he was lucky, but he has a sense for these things.”

Felicity nodded.

“He decided what mattered to him was family, and sustainable agriculture. And that’s what we’ve been doing ever since. Raising animals, and growing vegetables, and making babies.” Caroline smiled and swept a hand down her front.

“I can’t see Oliver farming,” Felicity said slowly, “But once he figures out what the next step is, I have no doubt he’ll succeed at whatever it is. The man can do anything. He’s kind of amazing.”

“He’s not bad to look at, either,” Caroline said, and Felicity laughed.

“No, he is not,” she said. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

“Excuse me?” Oliver asked from the doorway. His arms were full of firewood. Felicity looked up and blushed, but he winked at her, and then smiled at Caroline. “Where should I put this?”

“Oh, over there,” she said, cheeks pinkening. She waved broadly at the other half of the kitchen and put her hand on her belly.

Oliver walked over to the stove and started stacking it on the floor next to it. “What’s for dinner?” he asked.

Caroline shook her head. “If I ever get started on it, it’s going to be sausages and fried potatoes with French onion soup and salad greens. The garden right now is all lettuce and onions. I made fresh bread this morning, and Garnet can toast it for croutons.” She called to Garnet out the screen door, “Garnet! Can you come here? I’ve got a job for you.”

Oliver finished stacking and straightened. “Sounds delicious,” he said. “Hey, I thought we’d run into town for a few things. Is there a scenic route? Felicity can’t get enough of the nature around here.”

“All the roads look about the same this time of year,” Caroline said. “The county laid them out in straight lines, and except for our farm, it’s all corn and soybeans. Just don’t take Morrisey Road. There’s at least one meth den back there. It’s a squat gray house with a dog that’s chained up all the time. Poor thing. The guy who lives there is crazy mean. I know his girlfriend. She used to be okay, but she’s messed up now.”

“We’ll avoid Morrisey, then,” Oliver said and shot a look at Felicity that she understood to mean that there was no errand in town, but there might be a meth den drive-by in their future. “Thanks. Felicity?”

She stood and pointed to the cutting board. “Is this enough?” she asked.

“You go,” Caroline said. “You’re on vacation. Don’t worry about anything. Dinner should be on by six, though, if you want to aim for then to come back.”

“Sounds good,” she said, and Oliver held the screen door open for her. Felicity skipped lightly down the steps, and the bright sun glinting off the barn’s tin roof blinded her for a moment. She squinted against it and refocused her vision on a rundown house far in the distance.

Oliver took his keys out of his pocket, tossed them in the air, and caught them again. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. She nodded. They had a bad guy to hunt down before dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireflies and meth dens: just another evening in Paradise.

Dusky twilight slowly smothered the house on Morrisey, but no lights inside went on. Oliver had been watching the place on and off for over two days, and he thought that at last it was empty of people. When he and Felicity had driven by the first time, it had definitely been occupied, and the stream of twitchy meth heads seeking their fix had taken all this time to slow. Product must have run out - finally.

This time around they skipped car surveillance and had walked straight from their cabin as the sunlight was fading. The meth den property bordered a field with tall grass and a small stand of trees. Oliver and Felicity were sitting in the wooded part, both clasping binoculars. Oliver didn’t know if Felicity were actually using the binoculars or if she just liked holding them up to her eyes and looking spy girl-ish. It was hard to tell. She’d worn all the black she had in her suitcase, and she kept striking a serious pose and then grinning up at him like binoculars were the sexiest invention ever.

To be fair, Felicity had gone nearly three full days without her tablet at this point. Binocs must seem pretty high tech right now next to shovels and paring knives.

The long-eared dog at the end of the 8-foot chain suddenly howled. She was a nervous thing and a terrible watchdog. Who kept a hound as security? Oliver was willing to bet this dog started off as a pet and and meth had lowered her standard of living as well. When she wasn't barking at visitors or cars or rolling around on her back to scratch fleas, she was sniffing. Sniffing all the way to the end of that eight feet, in a straight line.

She had her nose to the ground again when a tiny light flickered in the yard. It was joined by another and then another and then hundreds more. Fireflies danced even next to meth dens, evidently. He turned to see Felicity’s face light up in wonder seeing them. “Oh,” she said, “oh, they’re so beautiful! They look just like tiny floating lanterns.” She grabbed his hand and threaded her fingers through his. “I’ve never seen so many of them! Have you?”

Oliver leaned back against the tree behind him, closed his eyes, and nodded. “At my parents’ cottage when I was a kid, and on Lian Yu too.”

"We didn't have fireflies in Vegas. I've read about them in books, but I never imagined they'd look so...magical. The field looks like a fairy land. If we’re not careful, the fae will come and steal us away.” She said the last in a stage whisper.

“The _fae_?”

“The faerie folk,” Felicity said, “They’re not nice like Tinkerbell in the most of the stories. They’re sexy and powerful, and they don’t play by human rules.”

Oliver leaned forward and looped his arm around her middle, pulling her into his lap. “They might want you, but they’re not going to have you. Besides, you’d glass them before they got here, right?” He tapped her binoculars.

“It’s dark now, Oliver,” she said, frowning.

“You noticed that, did you?” he asked. “I was wondering.”

Felicity jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Yes, I _noticed_ ,” she said. “But maybe I’d let one of them take me. They’re supposed to be irresistible, the faerie men. They lure away the maidens with their sweet summer songs.”

“Good thing you’re not a maiden then,” Oliver said.

She elbowed him again and then turned around in his lap and smiled at him. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s a good thing.” She ran her hand slowly down his chest. “We could give them a little proof?”

Oliver slid her hand back up his chest and trapped it between them. He nuzzled her cheek and then kissed her on the nose. “Sounds...worthwhile, but our meth den is probably one mouse fart away from exploding, and that would be a mood killer.”

She frowned again. “Is it really that dangerous? People have been going in and out of there all day.”

“Zombies have been going in and out all day. If the house blew, they probably wouldn’t even notice. But, yeah. I’ve been in opium dens and crack houses, and meth labs are a special kind of danger. Meth addicts are intense and unpredictable. SCPD handles them with more care than some gangbangers.”

Felicity raised her eyebrows. “You’ve been in opium dens? I thought they died out like a hundred years ago. Do you _know_ people who smoke opium? Have _you_ ever smoked opium?” She wrinkled her nose.

“Hong Kong,” Oliver said. “They’re supposed to be extinct, but they aren’t for a certain high ranking clientele. And, no, I’ve never smoked opium.”

She had that “Go on” look on her face, but he wasn’t sure how long the house would be empty. These meth guys _were_ unpredictable, and they were paranoid as hell. It was now or wait and watch at least another day. There was also something fundamentally wrong with stopping Felicity from expressing herself with him, sexually or otherwise, so he pulled them both up on their feet.

"Okay, I'm going in there for a quick look. Wait here; I'll be right back.''

"What do you mean, wait here?” she asked. “I'm going with you." She tucked her binoculars into her waistband.

Oliver shook his head. "No, you're not. If you need to do something, check out that dog. See how she reacts to being approached and how permanently she’s tethered to that chain. No matter what we do, this place is going to be Ground Zero in very short order, and she doesn’t deserve that.”

“What?” she said, shaking her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why did I come here if I’m just going to be waiting for you to do whatever or stuck on dog duty? I’m supposed to be helping. I want to come with you.”  

He took her by the shoulders, but gently. “Felicity, it may not make sense to you, but I won’t have you going in there. I just won’t. Do you hear me? You don’t have to like it or agree with it, but you have to go along with it.”

“I don’t have to _like it_?” Felicity poked him in the chest. “Are you kidding me? I get it, Mr. Big Guy. You think you can do this by yourself. You think that I’ll just get in the way in there, that I’ll trip over something or knock over some chemicals, but, Oliver-”

He shook his head. “No, you _don’t_ get it. I know you can help. You’ve helped me a hundred times before. Maybe not with meth labs, but I have no doubt that you can do whatever would have to be done and do it carefully.”

“So why won’t you let me?” Felicity asked, putting her hand on his arm. “This is ridiculous. Two heads are almost always better than one, and I don’t want to brag, but I am smart.”

Oliver pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I know that, Felicity. I’m well aware. I won’t let you because what I _need_ you to do is stay out of the meth lab. Your going in there messes with my first priority.”

“Your first priority? And what’s that?”

“Keeping you from getting hurt.”

She stared at him. “Your first priority is keeping me from getting hurt?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it? Not getting this meth guy?”

“No.” He blew out a breath. “I don’t care about him.”

“Then why are we here? Why have we spent the last two days reconnoitering this hell hole?”

“We’re here because _you_ told me you wanted to do something about the boy in the barn, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“Here? You’re doing that here, in the meth den?”

“I think this was where he lived,” he said. “I’m here to confirm that, to go back over his trail.”

“So we’re not going to take out a drug dealer tonight?”

“No, Felicity. He’s the walking dead anyway. No one we saw today still has a working set of brain cells. I’m not here for them. Look, I don’t really care if we get this guy or justice is served or the neighborhood is saved. Just like what we did today or do tomorrow or the next day doesn’t matter to me. We can go see Niagara Falls, or I can chop a cord of wood, or we can spend the whole day stuck in traffic. It’s all the same. But any day that ends with you safe and you still being you with me and me not completely fucking up this thing we have between us - I put that in the win column.”

Felicity looked at him incredulously, and then her shoulders sagged. She sighed and raised a hand to his cheek. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” she said. “Oh, we’re going to talk later about this, about how I helped you take down Slade Wilson and how I went twice to Nanda Parbat to save your ass, but now you don’t want me to walk into an empty house with you. And we also have to talk about how you think you’re doomed to destroy this ‘thing we have.’ What makes you sure you can, anyway?”

Oliver looked away. “Experience,” he said softly. “I have a lot of experience ruining things with people I love.”

“You haven’t ruined things with Thea,” Felicity said. “Despite your mistakes, she knows exactly what she means to you, that you’d do anything for her. That you have, in fact, given every possible thing you had for her.”

“Give me time,” Oliver said.

Felicity narrowed her eyes. “And so do I. Which is why I’m going to go pet that obnoxious hound over there while you rifle through this house alone.”

Oliver pulled her close and held her tightly to his chest. He stroked her hair, the curls that had formed at the nape of her neck with the humidity. It was so soft. So, so soft. A part of him felt like no matter how often, how long, or how fiercely he held her, he could never be close enough to her. He wanted to press all of himself to her, to hide inside of her, to disappear, be cleansed, whatever.

Another part was just grateful for the opportunity to be near her. She was an exorcist, a healer, a champion, his girl. He didn’t deserve this.

But he would take it. Because this  _amazing_ woman wanted him to, and he was done arguing about that at least. He was done with that.

He kissed her forehead. “Ten minutes,” he said. “I’ll be in and out in ten, and then you can tell me whatever you want. Greenville has a Denny’s with wifi. It’s open all night. I’ll take you there and we’ll order french fries and ice cream sundaes, and I’ll stay as long as you need to check your sites or code-”

“And lose your challenge?” Felicity said, smiling. “I don’t think so. I can do this. You think I can’t but I can.”

“I think you can do anything, Felicity,” Oliver said. “I know you can.”

“Shoo, then,” she said. “I’m hungry, so I’ll take you up on that part of your offer. Hurry up. I’ll get the update on the sitch with the dog.”

Oliver sprinted silently towards the meth den, grinning the entire way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does Oliver find in the meth house? Also more farm goodness, and the boy makes a reappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've managed to work both of my dogs into this story now. Which do you like best?

Oliver pulled his leather gloves on and then eased open the back door of the house. He extracted a headlamp flashlight from his jeans, eased it on, and clicked it. A bright stream of light illuminated the chaos of the enclosed porch. None of the light from outside - either the moon or the fireflies was visible through the windows. Meth Guy had duck-taped them with aluminum foil. He didn’t even want to think about why.

Floor to ceiling the room was packed with cardboard boxes and bags filled with trash - lantern fuel containers, empty Drano bottles and boxes of salt, reddish coffee filters, camera batteries, plastic tubing, and hundreds of ripped open Sudafed boxes. Broken glass littered the floor; his boots crunched as he walked.

The next room was a kitchen. A light above the stove shone dimly, casting its light over counters and a large table covered with mail. Oliver picked up a handful and flipped through it quickly. The envelopes, mostly pre-approved credit card or bank card applications addressed to hundreds of different people, were stacked in piles a foot high, and dozens more spilled onto the floor. On the table next to a handful of burn phones, two laptops were open and running. This was quite the little identity theft operation Meth Guy had going. And of course none of it was info remotely useful to him.

He zigzagged through the kitchen, clearing away pizza boxes and discarded microwave dinner trays with his foot. In the adjacent bathroom Oliver was unsurprised to see a couple of camp stoves set up by the sink and a tangle of dirty plastic tubes and glassware in the bathtub. There was plenty of trash here as well and boxes of rubber gloves and other protective gear. He grabbed a couple of face masks slipped one on, stuffing the other in his back pocket. Better safe than sorry.

Sections of the house was surprisingly clean. In one of the bedrooms the twin bed was actually made and next to it was a stack of books and comics. There was no dresser, but a pile of plastic crates held some folded jeans and t-shirts, and above them a mirror hung on the wall. Taped to it were photos of a woman, a group of kids in baseball shirts, and a young family posing with their dog. Oliver snagged this photo and moved on.

The second bedroom was in worse shape. Needles and other drug paraphernalia were everywhere, and in the middle of the bed was a pool of vomit and blood. He was stepping back out into the hall when he heard a low noise: a groan. He searched the room quickly and found an emaciated woman laying on the floor on the far side of the bed. Her thin, dark hair was matted with vomit, and when he pushed it out of her face he saw she was seizing and sweating profusely. The pulse at her throat was thready, but her airway was clear at least. Time to go.

Oliver crouched down and lifted the woman into his arms. She was tall and large boned but weighed practically nothing, so he easily carried her back through the house and into the kitchen. He laid her gently on the floor there next to the overflowing mail piles, grabbed one of the burn phones and dialed 911.

When the operator answered, he gave them the address in his Arrow voice and told them to send an ambulance and hurry; a woman was dying of a meth overdose. He pocketed the phone, and slipped out the porch door.

 

>>\--->

 

Felicity knelt before the dog and scratched her behind one of her long ears. Up close, her age was much more apparent. She had a lot of white mixed in with her reddish brown fur, especially on her face. The poor thing had howled menacingly at Felicity as she’d approached, but when she got close enough to hold out her hand, the dog had wagged her tail eagerly and licked it.

Now she was feeling around the dog’s neck to see what kind of bondage they were dealing with. Her collar was leather with ridiculous spikes sticking out of it, but it seemed like all that was holding it on was a buckle.

The back door of the house creaked open and Felicity heard her name. “Oliver,” she whispered, and he jogged over to her, dodging the Olds on cinderblocks and pulling a headlamp off his head.

“We need to get out of here,” he said, palming her shoulder. “An ambulance is coming, and probably the police as well. How’s the dog?”

“She’s okay,” Felicity said. “She’s too skinny and I’m pretty sure she’s got a significant flea infestation, but she’s so friendly, it’s hard to hold it against her. Right, girl?” She kneaded her fingers into the back of the dog’s neck, and the dog groaned in response.

“Let’s get her off this chain,” Oliver said.

“What? But she’ll take off and get lost,” she said. “We don’t have a leash, and we can’t take her back with us to the cabin.”

“She can’t stay here. When the police discover what’s going on here, they’ll spend days gathering evidence and hauling poisons out of this house. This dog will be in a shelter by morning, and they’ll put her down because she’s old. But I think she knows where she needs to go.” Oliver leaned down and petted her soft old head. “Don’t you, girl? It won’t take her long to get there either.” He deftly pulled the leather collar through the buckle and off her. The dog gave a chipper bark, wagged her narrow tail, and then took off like a shot following the trail she’d been sniffing before. She crawled underneath the barbed wire fence and ran howling into the dark.

“Now _we_ go,” Oliver said and pulled Felicity to her feet.

 

>>\--->

 

The Greenville Denny’s was just like every other Denny’s, greasy and bright with bad food and sticky tables. The menus were big and had lots of pictures for the benefit of customers who perhaps weren’t their verbal best at 12 AM. That wasn’t Oliver. Felicity had always assumed that Oliver was nocturnal because so many of their activities were accomplished after dark, and he always managed to bring his A game. But morning Oliver was capable too. He didn’t even need coffee to get him in a decent frame of mind. He just rolled out of bed clear thinking and ready to go whenever his internal alarm went off.

Damn the man. He made everyone else look bad. It was a vocation with him, practically. Yes, he was all broody sometimes, but he could go full MacGyver any time of day or night. If he wasn’t sleeping, he was on.

Right now that meant he was flipping through the contacts on the pre-paid cellphone he’d apparently snagged tonight. She set her spoon on the little plate underneath the sundae dish and slid along the curve of their corner booth. “You took that from the house? Is there anything useful on it?” she asked Oliver.

“No,” he said and slid the phone over to her. “You can take a look at it, but it’s mostly just evidence of fraud. No personal calls. I did find this, though.” He pulled a photograph out of his back pocket and put it on the table. It was one of those posed snaps from a family photo session, an autumn one. A little boy in brown corduroy overalls was hugging a familiar reddish brown dog, and behind him were a dark haired man and a blonde woman. They were all smiling widely. Once upon a time this boy had had a real family. Felicity frowned.

“That’s the dog,” she said. “And that’s...that’s the boy, isn’t it?”

Oliver nodded. “He’s a lot younger, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same kid. The dog is distinctive.”

“Do you think the meth guy is his dad?”

“I’m pretty sure he isn’t. He’s taller and bulkier than the man in this picture, and his hair’s a different color. Meth will wreck your body, but it doesn’t add five inches to your height. Also, I found a woman in the house, and this isn’t her.” He tapped the photo. “She was taller too.”

“There was someone inside?” Felicity asked. “Did she see you? Could she identify you?”

Oliver shook his head. “She was overdosing. She’d probably be dead by now if I hadn’t stumbled across her. Although, with the shape she’s in, she probably won’t be happy when she wakes up.”  

“So what do we do now?”

“We find out who this kid is and if he has any family to go to.”

Felicity sighed. “Considering he was living in that house and is now living in an abandoned barn, it’s unlikely that there’s a responsible adult waiting in the wings. But we should do our due diligence. Maybe he has out-of-state relatives who just aren’t aware. How are we going to find out his name?”

“The woman I found - she had a picture of them in her room too. She looked a lot better then, but it was her. He’s going to see the ambulance and the cops, and he’ll want to know what happened. It won’t be that hard, I don’t think. Where’s our waitress?” He scanned the room and raised a hand. The woman, standing in the corner, perked up and started moving towards them as fast as she could.

“That hussy has _finally_ left us alone, and now you want her back?”

He grinned at her. “I need to order breakfast.”

“Oliver, we’re staying at a bed and _breakfast_. With what you just ate and all the eggs I’ve collected over the past two days, you won’t be able to haul your weight out of the chair after tomorrow’s.”

“I will. I promise. And it’s not for us. Oh, good, she’s here.” He gazed up at the waitress and gave her that dreamy smile. Felicity thought of that combo as his you-will-do-what-I-want mind control. “Ethel,” he said, “Do you think I could get a double order of pancakes and sausages with a couple cinnamon rolls to go?”

Ethel’s arthritic hand moved to her waist and her order pad. “Sure thing, sweetie,” she said quickly. “Whatever you want.”

“And do you think I could get this wrapped up?” Oliver motioned to the steak bone on his plate. “I know it’s a bother, but I’d really appreciate it.”

“No problem at all,” Ethel said, giving him a soft smile. “Whatever you want. Do you need another refill?”

“I think we’re good,” Felicity said, moving closer to Oliver and placing her hand on his chest. “He’s had three. I could use another Diet Coke, though. To go, please.”

Ethel frowned at Felicity, “We don’t do refills to go.” Felicity gave her her sunniest smile, but the waitress shook her head and moved off towards the kitchen.

“Be nice,” Oliver said when she’d left.

Felicity grimaced. “Salivating,” she said. “The woman was salivating. So. Do you think I’ll have to hack anything? Because if I had to, for the sake of the greater good, I could, you know.” She wrapped her arm around his and smiled up at him beatifically.

“I think we can manage this one low tech,” Oliver said.

“Just so you understand, I don’t think anything related to helping this kid should count towards that week away from electronics or the ‘evils of modernity’.”

“You don’t,” he said, giving her a squeeze.

“No, I don’t. You know, even the Amish use electric lights on their buggies to make them visible on the road,” Felicity said.

“Is that true?”

“It _is_ true. I was talking to Caroline about it yesterday. The Andersons aren’t Amish, of course, but they’ve studied their lifestyle to see how much of it would be useful to adopt. It’s all about keeping people safe. What’s more important than that?”

“I can’t think of anything,” Oliver said and kissed her on the nose.

 

>>\--->

 

Dawn came very early in high summer in these latitudes, but Felicity was rarely up to see it and today was no exception. Oliver rose at 6 A.M. like he always did and pulled on his green t-shirt, a pair of tan shorts and his tennis shoes. As soon as he’d left the bed, Felicity cocooned herself into the quilts. The only parts of her that remained visible were a tuft of blonde hair and her fuzzy fuschia socks. Oliver peeled the quilt away from her face so she could breathe, but she frowned and burrowed her it back into the blankets. He grabbed the to-go bag from the table as he left the cabin.

There were times in his life when running had been Oliver’s only method of staying sane, and he liked to start his day off taming his brain with some good, clean physical exhaustion. He started his run off looping down around the farmhouse where two of the girls were already up and playing in the yard with Felix.

“Hey, May,” he said, coming to a stop. “Do you have a backpack I could borrow, just for my run? He lifted the to-go bag. “I’d like to keep my hands free.”

May beamed at him. “I do, Mr. Queen,” she said. “I just got it for my birthday. It’s _really_ nice! I’ll run and get it.” Her footsteps sounded up the porch stairs and May disappeared into the house.

“What are you doing?” Garnet asked a little suspiciously. Garnet was the sharp one, he’d noticed.

“Just running a little errand,” he said. “I’ll be back before breakfast.”

The screen door slammed again. “Look!” May said, holding up her backpack. It was purplish blue with little snowflakes that sparkled in the sunlight. Two girls in braids stared out at him from it and the blonde looked particularly challenging. There was a snowman on the side pocket.

Oliver stared at the backpack in mild confusion. “It’s great,” he said, “but I thought you guys lived totally off the grid,” he said.

“We do,” Garnet said, shaking her head at him. “But we still live on Earth.”

“Okay, well, thanks,” he said, taking the backpack from May and adjusted the straps as far as they would go then stuffed the to-go bag inside. “I’ll get this back to you after my run.” He took off again.

Felix joined him for a stretch, jumping and frolicking at his side. Oliver grabbed a fallen tree branch and flung it as far as he could, and in seconds the dog was back, offering him the opportunity to play tug and throw again. By the time Oliver reached the garden, though, Felix had scented something and abandoned him and the game.

Pete Anderson was already up and fiddling with an irrigation system he was devising to make use of the stream running through their property. Oliver waved to him and crossed the stone bridge that spanned the water. He ran hard along the wind break line past the sheep pasture, the Andersons’ young orchard, and nearly all the way to the back forty. He slowed to a jog and then an even stealthier pace.

From this distance he could see the old barn, and then, farther in the distance, the meth house. As he’d predicted, there were a number of county vehicles in the driveway this morning. Men and women in protective gear were carrying items from the house and placing them on a large blue tarp in the yard, and police officers were stringing yellow warning tape around the property.

When he reached the stand of trees, Oliver secreted himself amongst the foliage and slowed some more. He carefully wound his way through maples and birches until he could see the front of the barn. Sure enough, the boy was there. He was crouched in the door with a worried look on his face, but next to him was the dog. She was whining, and the boy had an arm around her neck.

“Shhh, Tunie. They’ll hear you. Shhh,” he said. The dog licked his face comfortingly but kept on whining.

Oliver eased the Frozen backpack off his shoulders and slid the zipper open. Tunie turned her face in his direction at the noise, but he was ready for her and threw his steak bone from last night into the grass between them. She scrambled towards the bone and leapt upon it when she’d sniffed it out. Oliver then pulled his second gift out of the backpack. He held it before him and said quietly, “Here, kid, have some breakfast.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity attempts some low-tech, old school snooping with a new friend.

Light shone in her eyes, and she turned her face into the pillow to avoid it, but it was so bright she couldn’t escape its reach. Felicity lifted her head and squinted into it. The cabin’s windows were wide open, their curtains drawn all the way back. She narrowed her eyes further. Oliver. This had to be his doing. He’d probably thought, “No use wasting a beautiful morning” and whipped those curtains open as he stepped out for an indecently early run. 

His run. Felicity sat up in bed, wrestling with the quilts wrapped around her arms and waist. She blinked her eyes again at the sun, this time trying to determine its strength. What time was it? She reached over to the nightstand and patted it until she located her glasses. Sliding them on, she looked for the antique pendulum clock hanging on the wall. 9:15. Hmmm.

It was too late to go to breakfast, then, but that didn’t matter. Caroline would save her some toast, and there was plenty of jam. She was never very hungry in the morning anyway. The important thing was how long had Oliver been gone. And when would he be back?

Getting up from the bed, Felicity walked to the open door and looked out through the screen. It was a warm morning, but there was a breeze blowing over the stream, and it cooled down this little indentation in the land. Oliver was nowhere in sight. Way off in the distance two of the Anderson girls were doing something in the garden, but otherwise, no one was around. 

She walked to the closet, fished around in it, and pulled out her brown leather bag. Nestled inside were her babies: her Kindle, her laptop, her phone, and the tablet she’d configured just for Team Arrow stuff. The tablet was supposed to sing out “Bein’ Green” when something needed Oliver’s attention, but it had been silent for 10 whole days. She wondered if Digg had figured out how to disable the alerts. Or maybe Oliver had - he didn’t love being compared to Kermit, and wasn’t that just wrong? Kermit was the best. The very best.

Felicity sat on the floor by the door and eased her laptop out of the bag. It gleamed silver in the light like the treasure it was. She cracked it open. She wasn’t going to turn it on, she was just going to look at it. Pretty little thing. It looked lonely, neglected, its keys extra springy today; they seemed to say, “Touch me, stroke me, give me some attention. Please?”

Felicity’s finger hovered over the on button. What could it hurt? Oliver didn’t have to find out, and she could do so much research about the community and even the boy, probably, with just a few keystrokes. Whatever she learned, she could tell Oliver it was what Caroline told her at breakfast this morning. 

She pursed her lips. She and Oliver had had their issues, but dishonesty had never been one of their problems. It didn’t seem wise to introduce it into their relationship now.

It had been a long, long time, though, since she’d had a tech fix. Three full days. Today was the fourth. Had she ever gone this long without checking her email before? She didn’t think so. Why exactly had she agreed to this? The lack of electricity - well, it was kind of inconvenient, but it was warm and light this time of year, and she and Oliver could certainly entertain themselves. She wasn’t dying to check her Instagram or Google alerts, and she didn’t really care what was happening in the wider world. 

But she did want to slide her fingers over those keys and see what mysteries this little town of Greenville might hold, and she’d like to check back in with Starling, Diggle, and Thea. She also wanted to do some research on meth. Oliver had come out of that house wearing a face mask the other night, so there must be some contamination. Was he safe? Were the Andersons safe?

No, no. She could do this. It was only four more days, right? If it were Oliver, he could do this, no problem. Oliver could do this with both hands tied behind his back.

Felicity lingered for a minute on that image. 

She shook her head. She’d learned not to compare herself to Oliver. Oliver was driven to exercise literally to exorcise his demons. Oliver was penitential. Oliver could deny himself all kinds of necessities for any length of time, but some of that was trauma and not force of will. Anyway, Oliver was Oliver, and she was herself. And she could do this. 

Felicity closed the laptop and shoved it back in the bag. Then she looked up and gasped. 

 

>>\--->

 

Felicity held her hand up to her heart. The older Anderson girl, Garnet, was standing at the the screen door, staring at her. She held a plate of toast and strawberries in her hands. 

Geez, Felicity, overreact much, she thought, and forced a smile on her face. “Garnet, hi,” she said. “You brought breakfast. That’s nice of you.” She took the plate from the girl and set it on the table in the middle of the room.

“My mom told me to,” Garnet said. “It’s almost ten o’clock.” 

“Yes, well,” Felicity said, “I’m up now and getting ready to head out.” 

“Where are you going?” Garnet asked. She was wearing purple overalls over a white cotton shirt with a Peter Pan collar. Her curly blond hair was held back by a handkerchief decorated with purple laptops on a lime green background and a long braid fell down her back. She had a charm bracelet on one wrist with tiny dogs, chickens, horses, pigs, and a barn hanging from it. 

Felicity looked down at her ratty MIT t-shirt, black bike shorts, and pink fluffy socks and felt a little...outclassed. She walked to the dresser and began rummaging through her clothes. “I thought I’d check out the library. Greenville has a library, right?” 

Garnet perked up. “We do, and it’s nice. They just remodeled it and put on big addition last year. My homeschooling group meets there every Monday during the school year in the community room. Mrs. Busch teaches us Technology, and then we have Literature.” 

“Technology, huh?” Felicity pulled out a jean skirt and her hot pink sushi top and then searched for her brush. 

“Yeah, but it’s not very good,” Garnet said. “The class, not the technology. Mrs. Busch only knows the basics: email, Google, Excel, stuff like that. Fortunately, we get a lot of free time to explore after we finish our other work.” She shuffled her feet and then asked, “Could I come?”

“To the library?” Felicity frowned. “I guess that would be okay. Do you think your mom would let you?” Felicity walked over to the table and popped a strawberry into her mouth, biting down. Oh, my: sweet and tart and dense and so strawberry-ish. It was so much better than the ones you could buy in the store. 

“Yes,” Garnet said quickly, “But I’ll tell her. Otherwise the others will want to come too, and you can’t fit all of us in your car.” 

Felicity thought there was a pretty good chance she could fit three girls in the Porsche, but she didn’t say that. “Why do you want to go to the library?”

“Oh, you know,” Garnet said, looking down at her bracelet. “It’s nice there. It would be good to have a break from the farm, and some of my books are due.” 

Felicity wasn’t going to push. “You go ask your mom. I’ll finish breakfast, get dressed, and meet you at the car in 15 minutes, okay?”

“Great!” Garnet said and took off for the farmhouse. 

 

>>\--->

 

“This is a nice car,” Garnet said when they were on the road. She smoothed her hand across her leather seat and then began fiddling with the buttons on the dash.

“It is,” Felicity said. “It’s Oliver’s, but he’ll be okay with me taking it.” She was like 90 percent sure, and he hadn’t been there to ask anyway, so too bad for him.

“But you guys are married, so it’s both of yours, right?” 

“Well, he really likes this car, but I’ve driven it too.” Once, but, seriously, who was counting?

“I thought you were living completely off the grid for this whole week,” Garnet said. “That’s what Mr. Queen said.” 

“We are,” Felicity said. 

“The pioneers didn’t have cars,” Garnet said.

“Oh, well, cars,” Felicity said. “It’s not like they count. How can you get around without cars?”  
Garnet looked at her, but she didn’t say anything. 

“Anyway,” Felicity said, “I’ve got some research I have to do at the library because I can’t use my laptop. Or my tablet. Or my phone. So I’m going to have to ask the librarian.”

“Miss Peachey?” Garnet said. “She’s nice. She knows where everything is. Sometimes she lets us do puppet shows for the preschool storytimes. We had this really funny script once about a magic spaghetti pot that wouldn’t stop.” She laughed. “May was in charge of flinging noodles at the crowd from behind the stage. It was fantastic.” Then she gave Felicity an unreadable look. “I can help you look up stuff.”

They passed a “Welcome to Greenville, Home of the Archers” sign. Felicity lifted her foot off the gas. “You can? Because I thought -- ” 

“That we were like the Amish?” Garnet said. “We’re not. I told you, we do technology in school. My parents didn’t decide to live this way because they have religious objections to modern life or anything. They just want us to ‘experience the natural world’ and ‘develop a work ethic and an appreciation for simpler pleasures.’” Garnet rolled her eyes a little. “Mom was a microbiologist, and Dad teaches medieval and Renaissance history at the local college.”

“I thought he was a farmer.”

“He is a farmer, but in the winter when everything slows down, he teaches a couple of classes. He works with our homeschooling group too. We get a lot of history and science. But I’m good at math too.” 

“I bet you are,” Felicity said. “I was good at math too. It helps to be good at math if you want to work with computers. So they’re fine with you surfing the web?”

“Well,” Garnet said, “Kind of. Turn left here.” She gestured at the approaching sign for Sycamore Street. Felicity slowed further and turned left. The street wasn’t long, and it teed into 4th Street at the end. The library sat on the hill above this intersection, a two-story tan brick building with a red tiled roof and an imposing front door. A terraced walkway flanked by lampposts led to this entrance. Felicity parked the Porsche on the street, and she and Garnet got out of the car. Garnet hoisted a bag of books over her shoulder, leaning a little under their weight.

“Wow,” Felicity said as they ascended the stairs and walked under the engraved Greenville Carnegie Library notation. 

Garnet nodded. “They just expanded and updated it too. There are lots of computers now. Look, do you want my help or not?” 

“Your help with what exactly?”

“With whatever kind of snooping you’re here to do.” She tilted her head at Felicity. “I might be just a kid, but I saw Mr. Queen hightail it the back forty this morning, and you’re at our library researching on vacation? It doesn’t take a genius.” 

Felicity raised an eyebrow at Garnet. “I could be here doing genealogy.” She pulled open the heavy front door and walked into the foyer. Sun shone in through the door’s stained glass and bounced off the library’s marble floor. 

Garnet said, “There were a lot of sirens and lights flashing last night over at the Niemands place last night. They woke Ivy and me up. I think you came here to find stuff out, but you can’t use the computers, and I can help you with that.” 

Felicity held her gaze for a full minute and then sighed. “Okay, you’re right. I want to find out about what was happening. Do you know what goes on out there?” 

“I know that Mr. Niemands is a bad man. We’re not allowed to approach his property line or bike past his house. His girlfriend lives there too, and she’s tall and scary looking and not very nice.” 

“Anyone else?” Felicity asked. 

“Over the winter, we thought she might have brought an older boy in to live with them. The bus came in the mornings to pick him up for school. But we haven’t seen him for awhile.” Garnet wandered over to the book return and began fishing books out of her bag: a handful of Nancy Drew books, Ender’s Game, a manual on how to raise rabbits for profit, and Python for Kids. 

“Do you know his name?”

“No. We never met him.”

“Well, Garnet,” Felicity said, “That’s what I need to find out, and I also need to know why the police were there last night and who exactly this Mr. Neimands is. Does Greenville have a newspaper?”

“Yes, but it only comes out a few times a week.” 

“There’s a website?” 

Garnet nodded. “Our homeschooling group sometimes does amateur reporting for the Gazette, like what happens at the county fair and that kind of stuff.” 

“So it may already have a new item up about last night, although that’s probably optimistic. I should talk to the librarian anyway. She might have talked to someone who heard something. I’ll go through paper copies of past issues looking for crime.” She rolled her eyes. “If only there were an easier way to get this information.” 

Garnet smiled her in solidarity and she put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I need you to check out the Gazette’s website for me, anything about Mr. Niemands or arrests or the girlfriend. Print anything that you find out. I’ll pay for the copies, and I’ll buy you some ice cream on the way home for your help.” 

“Oh, I don’t want ice cream,” Garnet said, smiling.

“Well, what would you like?” Felicity asked.

“I want you to teach me how to code.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the boy! And Oliver has a chat with him about his current situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this chapter this weekend, so I wrote [a bit of Olicity smut](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4217196/chapters/9811599) instead. But plot-wise, this had to happen for the story to move forward, so I sat down and pushed it out of my brain. Special thanks to my sister for her help with overall story plotting.

The boy was looking at him like he was a child molester, so Oliver said, “It’s not poisoned, just cold. I ordered it to go late last night, and the farm doesn’t exactly have microwaves, so...” He took another step forward and then put the styrofoam box on the ground between them. The dog snapped her neck up at the sound and sniffed, curious, so the boy picked it up, slipped the flap from the bottom section, and peeked inside. He took one of the sausages between two fingers, stared at it for a moment, then shrugged. He popped it into his mouth and bit down. His expression eased down a notch from alarm to wariness.

He was maybe older than Oliver had originally estimated, but it was hard to tell because he was thin, covered in dirt, and in that hormonal age bracket where age was a bit indeterminate. Tommy had had much of his beard by 15, and he’d loved to crow about it to Oliver who had still been pretty baby faced even in college. “Peach fuzz,” he’d called him, before they started bingeing. Then Peach Schnapps, and finally just Peaches. This kid wasn’t hairy, but he was tall. Downright gangly, in fact. He had long arms and legs, but his shoulders were still narrow.

“I should have brought more for the dog, but I left a lot of meat on that bone,” Oliver said apologetically.

“Petunia?” The boy asked, looking in her direction. “Oh, she’s okay. She’s got a real hunting instinct. She nabbed something on her way over here last night. But I’ve been feeding her anyway.” He sat down on a stump near to the barn door, and began scarfing pancakes down.

Oliver frowned. “Feeding her - with what?”

The boy shrugged. “Stuff from the house. I left awhile ago, but when he’s gone, I’ll go in and raid the fridge. Sometimes there’s dog food.”

“He?”

“My uncle - Greg Neimands, the loser who lives there.”

“The meth dealer?” Oliver asked. The boy nodded.

“He doesn’t use that much, so he still eats.” The pancakes were gone. He threw the last sausage to the dog and began unwrapping the plastic from one of the cinnamon rolls.

Oliver sat on the ground in front of the kid and weighed his words. He was here to assess the kid’s damage so they could figure out what the best path forward might be. But he knew the boy wasn’t going to answer prying questions from a stranger, and he didn’t blame him.

“She’s still alive,” he finally said. The boy stopped eating.

“Who?” he asked.

“The woman who was in the house. Your aunt? She was in bad shape, but she was still alive when I called 911 and put her on the floor near the door. I thought maybe you’d want to know.”

“She’s not my aunt,” said the boy, “and I don’t care. If she dies, she had it coming. Meth - who does that shit? I knew it was poison when I was in third grade. My mom and I watched a video online. ‘Not even once.” She made me repeat it over and over again. So I’d be safe, she said. Safe,” His gave a bitter smile. “We practiced.”

Oliver nodded slowly. “Well, she’s not dead, at least not yet. She won’t have an easy time of it, though, when she comes out of it.”

“Good,” said the kid. “She’s useless anyway.” He’d finished everything now, except for the little plastic container of syrup. He dipped his finger into that and stuck it into his mouth. Petunia came up to lick his fingers, and the boy dropped the styrofoam container on the ground for her to clean up. He looked up and asked belligerently, “So what’re you going to do?”

“With you?” Oliver asked. The boy nodded.

“Nothing,” Oliver said.

The boy looked disbelieving.

“No, really,” Oliver said. “I have a healthy skepticism about the state bureaucracy’s ability to solve problems like these. I’m here because my girlfriend was worried.” It was the truth.

“Look, man,” the kid said.

“Oliver,” Oliver said.

“Look, _Oliver_ ,” the kid said, “you dropped by here twice to take a look at me, you broke into the  house and saved my uncle’s girlfriend, and you brought me breakfast in a backpack with Anna and Elsa on it. If that doesn’t have ‘goody-good’ written all over it, I don’t know what does. People like you can’t walk away. You’re not capable of it.”

Oliver smiled. “You’d be surprised,” he said and stretched out his legs before him. “And the backpack - that’s not mine.”

The kid raised an eyebrow.

“May gave it to me to use,” Oliver said.

“May,” the kid said, “that’s the little girl?”

“Yeah,” Oliver said. “It’s just a loaner. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so I couldn’t say no.”

“Well, say no now,” the kid said. “I don’t need you, and I don’t want any more help. Now that I have Petunia with me, I’m moving on anyway.”

Oliver thought this was, at best, an exaggeration. Here the boy had some rudimentary shelter, a way of getting food, and now his dog.

"Tell your girlfriend I was gone when you got here,” the boy said. “She doesn't really care anyway, she probably just wants to look like she cares so you'll think she's cool and buy her stuff. She must be pretty desperate, though, if she's with a guy who runs around with a kiddy backpack. You should dump her."

Oliver sat up and glared at the kid. "Look, kid - what's your name, anyway?" It came out lower and harsher than he’d intended.

The kid’s chin snapped up. "Aaron," he said.

"Look, _Aaron_ , you can trash talk me all day long. I don't care. Hell, I agree with you. She can do better than me. But if I ever introduce you to my girlfriend, you'll shake her hand knowing you're touching the very best person you'll ever meet, and that's the truth. She wants to know you're okay because she genuinely wants that to be the case. Because she is an avenging angel and the goddamn sunshine all at once.  And that reminds me - " He stood up, stretched, and moved toward the barn. "I was going to pull this together before I went back."

  


>>\--->

  


Two-thirds of the barn’s interior was open all the way to the roof. But the back third, which was enclosed to the rafters, was split into two rooms with a bisecting hall below. Oliver assumed there was storage space above. He had left this section unexplored the other day because his focus had been on the boy’s living conditions and the hole in the roof. But today he was thinking more tactically. Higher ground was always safer ground.

He walked to the back and down the short hall into the dark. This part of the barn had that smell - of forgotten times and abandoned places. Or maybe it was just mold and possum crap; it was hard to say. The room to the right held a jumble of old machinery. Whoever had last used this space had been a tinkerer. There were car parts, bicycle tires, a broken wagon bed, and plenty of other things: springs, old tools, and unidentifiable pieces of metal overflowed from a variety of wooden boxes. Nails, screws, and bolts of differing sizes were tucked inside glass baby food jars. Mr. Tinkerer, he assumed, had nailed their tops in a neat little row to the underside of some surprisingly well crafted shelving.

The other room had an identical window and was about the same size and less cluttered, but a shallow staircase built against the far wall took up some of its space. Oliver gingerly stepped on the first step and, when it held his weight, walked slowly up, through a door, and into the enclosed loft. He scanned the space and nodded. The loft had things to recommend it, and its sturdy door was definitely one of them.

The room itself was a chaotic mess filled with rusted milk canisters, pallets, 2x4s, bushel baskets, and assorted trash, but the floor was sturdy, the roof above whole, and there was a large window nestled underneath the barn’s widow’s peak. Dust motes from remnants of ancient straw and sawdust danced in the light streaming in from it. It smelled better up here. Drier. He wondered why Aaron hadn’t made this his living space already.

The boy was crashing his way upstairs with his dog, so he didn’t have to wait long to ask. Aaron’s dirty mop of brown hair appeared at the same time as his unhappy voice. “What are you doing barging around up here? Get out of my barn.”

“ _Your_ barn?” Oliver said. “From what I can tell, you’re squatting - and doing a pretty poor job of it - unless you have Mr. Anderson’s permission?”

Aaron frowned. “Not exactly.”

“Well, if you’re going to live here, you should at least make it habitable and safe.” Oliver began to clear a path through the junk. He made his way over to the pallets and examined them for damage. Surprisingly, they were in solid shape. He set them aside. “Here, help me clean this area up.”

“No.” Aaron shook his head.  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I’m not staying up here. I’m not cleaning it up either. I’ve got better things to do.” He slouched defiantly.

The kid had made an art out of his passive aggressive hostility. Oliver had been an expert at it in his own time, so he had to give him credit: A for effort. But when Petunia ambled over to him and gave him a baleful look that said, “Really? This is _the food guy_ ,” Aaron squatted down and rubbed her scruff. She groaned and licked him.

“Why don’t you want to stay up here?” Oliver asked.

Aaron was silent for another moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Then: “It creeps me out. It’s small and dark. I don’t like it.”

Oliver found a pile of bricks in one corner and started stacking them in a crate. With the pallets, they’d make a decent bed. “You’re claustrophobic?”

“What?” the boy asked.

“Afraid of small spaces?”

“Nooo,” he said, drawing out the syllable in a way that heavily implied the opposite.

“Good,” Oliver said. “Because this is a far safer place to sleep, and I’m not leaving you here until we get it sorted out.”

“Safer,” Aaron said slowly.

“Much safer,” Oliver said. “Anyone walking into the barn can tell right away you’re staying here, and your food debris is attracting pests. I can tell from both the tracks they leave and their pattern of waste. Possums, raccoons, and mice. Raccoons in particular you don’t want. Many of them are rabid, and they're _mean_.”

Aaron swallowed.

“So we need to clear that away. There’s a metal drum downstairs, and we can use it for trash for now, including your empty cans, food boxes, and wrappers. It’s not that animals won’t come up here, but if you keep food away, they’re less likely to explore, and there’s a door.”

“A door?” The kid’s eyes went back to the stairway.

Oliver hauled the crate over and set it next to the pallets then asked carefully, “Aaron, does your uncle know where you went when you ran away?”

Aaron shook his head warily, “No.”

“Are you sure?” Oliver spotted a broom in another corner, fished it out, and handed it to Aaron.

The kid took it and looked around. “Look, he didn’t care about me when I lived there. Why would he care why - or where - I ran away?”

“It’s not so much that he cares about what happens to you as much as he may suspect you had a part in last night’s drug bust.”

Aaron’s knuckles whitened on the broomstick. “But I didn’t have anything to do with that!”

“I know,” Oliver said. “But he doesn’t sound like either the most rational or understanding of guys. Does he know how much you don’t like him?”

The boy bit his lip and nodded once. “We fought. Before I left, he smacked me around pretty hard, and I--I said some things.” He started shoving the broom across the floor, raising a cloud of dust without resolving much of the disorder.

“I’m sure he had it coming,” Oliver said. “The important thing is, though, if he knows where you are? Does he know you’re staying here?”

Aaron thought about it for a couple of minutes while he stirred the dirt and finally shook his head. “No. I never played on the property here or went here to get away before I left. It’s nearby, but you have to walk to get to it, and Uncle Greg never walks anywhere. He hates exercise. Plus, he’s not exactly the most aware guy. Unless you owe him money.”

“Okay.” Oliver nodded. “So we can assume the barn is safe,” He wasn’t really convinced. It was harder to be sanguine when you’d seen your enemies come back from the literal dead to take another swing at you. “Still, while you’re sleeping, you need to be where no one can stumble upon you and preferably behind a locked door.” He squatted down and put his hand out. Petunia came over to sniff it, and he patted the hound who sat on her haunches and began scratching behind her ear. “Petunia here can be extra security. She’ll be good it it. I’ve heard her howl.”

Aaron looked like he was trying to determine what was scarier: sleeping in this room or the scenario Oliver had just laid out. Finally he nodded.

“So,” Oliver said, standing up, “here’s what we’ve got to accomplish this morning: We need to finish clearing this area so you can relocate, remove all trash and traces of food, get this door lock working, and get at least a water bucket in here. You’re filthy, and your dog has fleas.”

Aaron grimaced at him, but he didn’t argue, so Oliver turned around and got busy organizing. If he stayed gone too long, Felicity might wake up and get into trouble. Her brain was restless, and her curiosity had been piqued last night. He did not need her poking around and arousing the attention of Greg Niemands either.

And he _had_ to return the backpack to May. It was messing with his reputation. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and Garnet do a little digging and get into a little trouble in town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the librarians and staff at the East ____ ____ Public Library who have to deal with the real Tuna and also Stinky Cast Guy, "Politely," and other assorted characters every day.
> 
> Thanks also to Dad for talking me through the plotting value of various car problems.

The lobby of the library was quiet, but there was a lot of noise coming from a set of double doors labeled “Community Room.” Felicity scanned the space, located the set of computers farthest away, and made a beeline for them. She pulled out the chair in front of the workstation, and plunked Garnet down in it.

“Mrs. Queen?” Garnet said.

“Felicity,” Felicity said. “Please call me Felicity.”

Garnet squinted at her and gave a tiny shake of her head. “Um, yeah...my mom’s never going to let me do that, Mrs. Queen.”

Felicity was a little taken aback, but she nodded. “Okay, well. Let’s just start. I’m not supposed to touch anything, you know, ‘modern’,” - she blew out a long breath - “so here’s what you’re going to do: check out the _Greenville Gazette_ first, and see if there’s any information on last night’s happenings. Then search any local sites. Then the country sheriff and the state police. If you find _anything at all_ , print it out.”

“Sure,” Garnet said, punching her card number into the library’s interface, “but we need to talk about my request.”

“Later for that. I’m still thinking on it,” Felicity said, and Garnet pursed her mouth but nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, watching Garnet run her small hands over the keyboard, Felicity realized what an impossible task this was. Garnet was proficient with computers, but she was getting nothing but dead ends out of her searches. All they really had access to here was public record, and without this kid’s name they were groping in the dark. There wasn’t even much information about drug crimes in the county. She was going to have to go at this problem old school and plug into the grapevine.

“You’re doing great. Keep searching,” she told Garnet, and wandered over to the information desk.

The woman behind the desk was rocking a brown and white polka-dotted Hepburn tea dress. Her strawberry blond hair was pulled back into a multi-story twist, and her bangs were short and curled. Elongated pearl earrings dangled from her ears. A small owl-in-glasses pin on her dress read, “Miss Peachey.” The only thing Felicity would have added to this fantastic ensemble were some long white gloves, but work came first, she supposed. It was impossible to type in gloves, and one had to make sacrifices to achieve excellence.

Miss Peachey was listening to the rant of a middle-aged man with a scraggly goatee. “It’s just that this keyboard never works right,” he said. “Don’t you people ever get tech support in to address these kinds of issues? I have this problem like _literally_ every day.”

“Well, perhaps if you didn’t eat crackers over that keyboard _every single day_ , Mr. Visser, it might function a little better,” Miss Peachey said. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t drain your tuna fish cans into the wastepaper baskets.” She folded her arms in front of her chest. “In fact, let’s make today a no tuna day, okay? I got complaints about the smell from the other patrons yesterday. And all the other days this week.”

Felicity winced. Tuna? Crackers? She vowed that when this week of self-imposed tech exile was up, she would carefully examine her own keyboards. No computer deserved that.

“It’s just that this library is funded with my tax dollars,” the man said. “And I’d like it if the people here showed a little accountability for what the public is entrusting them with.”

Miss Peachey gave the man the kind of long-suffering look that revealed the hundreds of times she’d heard him or other people go off on her, and Felicity was unhappily reminded of her time at Tech Village last summer. And at the IT Department before that. And at the MIT IT Services desk before that. The button that she’d kept carefully fastened on her tongue for lo those many years slipped free of its tidy hole.

“Excuse me,” she said, turning and looking up at the man, “but are you kidding me? You come in here and eat crackers over public property every day, and then expect the library staff to clean up after you? Who do you think you are? The sign outside says, “Library,” not “Preschool.”  Then she clamped down on the huge smile that threatened because, oh my god, that felt good to say. She wished she could go back in time and say it to the lady who’d brought in the laptop covered in red Kool-Aid and orange Play-Doh and demanded a full refund because of “defective Chinese merchandise.”

Mr. Visser turned around, mouth half open, but Felicity channeled her inner Veronica Mars and gave him a withering stare. “That’s right,” she said in a low voice. “Paying a handful of tax dollars to your municipality doesn’t make you her boss.”

“I don’t think...” he said, stepping toward her.

“Well, that’s obvious,” Felicity said. “And it’s high time you started.” She waved a hand at the desk. “To wit: this whole area is going to be a You Free Zone today. No more complaining and no more bullying the staff.”

Mr. Visser was glaring at her hard now, so Felicity raised a finger near to his mouth, but carefully avoiding his gross goatee. “If you think you’re going to intimidate me, Mr. Visser, you can think again. Bigger men than you have tried and failed. _Much_ bigger men.” She then made a shooing motion with her hand in the direction of the bank of computers to her left. “Now you go back to where you came from and think about what you’ve done.”

The man stared at her angrily for a full minute, opening and then closing his mouth. Finally he stalked off with a sulk. Felicity let out her breath and turned to Miss Peachey who was looking at her with wonder in her eyes.

“Who are you?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Felicity Smoak,” she said and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you. I was wondering if you might be able answer a question for me?”

“Whatever you need,” Miss Peachey said in a whisper. “Anyone who can shut Tuna up so efficiently...can ask me anything.”

“Tuna?” Felicity asked, and Miss Peachey grimaced and then looked around.

“Just forget I said that,” she said, smiling. “Now what did you need? Ask for anything, anything up to half of my kingdom, and, for you, I will grant it.”

  


>>\--->

  


A half an hour later, Felicity had the still warm printout of an obituary in her hands. She’d hit paydirt, and she hadn’t stroked so much as one key. Oliver could suck it. She sat down at a table in the middle of the library and laid it out before her so Garnet could read it too.

 

_Amanda Lee Niemands, 35, of Greenville, died Tuesday, October 21, 2014, at Wayne Hospital. She was a beloved wife and mother, a cherished friend, and a devoted community member._

_Amanda was born in July 8, 1979 in Dayton, Ohio, the daughter of James Spoelstra and Sandra Van den Broek Spoelstra, and grew up in Greenville. She graduated from Greenville High School with the class of 1997 and was married to Thomas Niemands, also of Greenville, in 2000. Amanda worked as a secretary for Woodland Primary School for 15 years. In her spare time she enjoyed reading, working with animals, baking, and spending time with her family and many friends. She was active in 4-H for many years, first as a participant and then as an adult leader and committee member._

_In addition to her husband, Tom, Amanda is survived by her son, Aaron Niemands, and her brother-in-law, Gregory Niemands. She was preceded in death by her parents, James and Sandra Spoelstra, also of Greenville._

_Funeral services will be held October 25, 2014 at Second Reformed Church of Greenville. The Jacobs Family Funeral Home is in charge of all funeral arrangements. Visitation will begin on Thursday, October 23 at 7 P.M. In lieu of flowers, memorial donations may be made to Darke County 4-H or to the Darke County Humane Society._

 

“So his mom died,” Garnet said.

“It looks like it,” Felicity said. “And there wasn’t much family to fall back on.”

“I wonder what happened to his father,” Garnet said.

“That is the question,” Felicity said, sighing. “At least we have a name now and a starting point. We make a pretty good team, you and I.” She raised her fist, and the girl bumped it.

“Now about the agreement we had…” Garnet said.

“Still later for that,” Felicity said. “You’re asking for a lot, and I need to think about it.”

“It’s not so much,” Garnet said, “You are a computer genius, after all. Don’t you want inspire the next generation of girls in science and tech?”

The girl was good, Felicity thought, but she was saved from answering her by the commotion coming from the community room. A steady stream of kids were flooding into the library foyer, some of them holding balloon animals. One little boy in a Superman cape was crying at the top of his lungs. His father was holding on to the hand of an older girl and juggling a large pile of books. Miss Peachey hurried over to the circulation desk to assist the woman checking out books, and the kids surged in her direction.

“Let’s get out of here,” Felicity said, and Garnet nodded in agreement.

  


>>\--->

  


They left the library in a good mood from their success, and the sun shone brightly upon them as they loaded themselves back into the Porsche. Garnet grabbed a book called _Wizardology_ from her bag and began flipping through it. Felicity put the key in the ignition and eased the car away from the curb, looking for the easiest way to turn the car around. The street in front of her dead ended into dense brush, so that was a no go. She turned the car into a driveway and backed out again, driving down 4th towards Sycamore. Suddenly Garnet gasped and threw her arms out, palms up, toward the dash.

Felicity only had a second to see the streak of pink and blonde running down the library lawn and into the street. She slammed on the brakes, twisting the wheel away from the child, and the car slammed into the curb with a loud crack. The man she’d seen before in the library’s foyer came flying down the sidewalk screaming, “Eliza! Eliza, stop!” He was now holding the little boy in the Superman cape who, not surprisingly, was still screaming. Felicity took a second to check to see if Garnet was hurt and then flew from the car to look for the girl.

“Please, please,” she said under her breath. “Please don’t let me have hit her!”

Fortunately she hadn’t. Eliza was still running across the road chasing a rabbit. The rabbit  looked almost as terrified as Eliza’s father did, and it weaved from side to side as it ran. Just then a formidable looking woman with rainbow tipped hair reached down and grabbed Eliza by her pink dress. Eliza screamed, the rabbit disappeared into the tall weeds, and a small crowd started to form around Eliza, her father, and the woman with the rainbow hair.

Felicity let out her breath slowly and counted down from three, then she turned to look at what was left of the Porsche. She wondered if it was too late to make out her will. Because Oliver was going to put an arrow in her.

  


>>\--->

  


“Yeah, that’s going to cost you,” said the young man with the tow truck when he’d finally arrived. He slid his fingers through the long black curls falling across his forehead and bit down on his pen. He had dark, heavy lidded eyes behind rimless glasses, and with his pale complexion he looked like he should be writing poetry and coughing blood into a white handkerchief instead of holding a clipboard and wearing overalls that read “Wade.”

“I kind of thought so,” Felicity said, biting her lip. “Is there any place in town that we might take it that might, you know, _expedite_ the whole process? Maybe get it done this afternoon before, um, anyone can notice?”

The tow truck driver laughed out loud. Felicity looked at him questioningly.

“Oh, you were serious?” he asked and then shook his head. “No.”

Felicity’s hand went through her handbag, rifling through it for her ID and checkbook. “Are you sure? Because I can pay more money if that’s what it takes to get this done quickly.”

Wade took her driver’s license and her AAA card and scribbled something down on his clipboard. He gave them back to her and then went over and squatted by the passenger side of the car. “You bent the rim on that front tire really bad when you hit the curb. That’ll have to be special ordered. I’m guessing the tie rod is broken and it’s more than possible you cracked the axle too. No, this will take awhile to fix.”

“Awhile? What exactly do you mean ‘ _awhile_ ’?”

“Ask ‘em at the garage,” he said. “They’d know better than I would.”

“Is there anywhere in town I could get a rental car, then, until this is fixed?”

“Yep,” he said. “Enterprise. But it’s Saturday. They’re closed weekends.”

Felicity let her breath slowly out. “I’ve got to get Garnet and myself back to the farm by this afternoon. Her parents will be wondering what happened to her. I don’t know what they’re going to think about this.” She motioned toward the car.

In the front seat Garnet looked up from _Wizardology_ and frowned.

“Oh, I can take you both out there,” Wade said. “I know the Andersons. Right, Garnie? You can tell your father that I haven’t forgotten his lectures on the chivalric code,” he said and turned a rather practiced looking soulful gaze on Felicity. “I’d never leave a lady by the side of the road.”

Garnet rolled her eyes. “Stuff it, Wade,” she said. “It’s not like you care about the feudal system or _The Lais of Marie de France_. You only took his class to meet girls.”

Wade yanked her attention from Felicity and gave Garnet a piranha smile. “You want that ride back, Garnie?” he asked. “Because you’re young and healthy. Five miles in 85 degrees probably wouldn’t even tire you.” He eyed her bag. “Unless you’re carrying like 50 pounds of books.”

Felicity intervened. He wasn’t kidding about the 85 degrees, and the air was heavy with humidity as well. Her shirt was sticking to her chest, and if she lingered in town any longer, Oliver, car or not, would start to worry and do something. She didn’t need to deal with his anger on top of his anxiety.  “We would really appreciate the ride, Wade, if it’s not too much trouble for you.”

“Oh, it’s not,” Wade said and grinned. “Here, let me just hook up your car. You two jump in the cab. We’ll drop the Porsche off at Paul’s Service, and then I’ll get you home.”

“No hurry,” Felicity said. “Really, there’s _no hurry_.” She could wait a little longer to tell Oliver what she’d done to Tommy’s car.  


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity have it out about the car, and Garnet does a little sleuthing of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally managed to get Oliver and Felicity back together - so they could fight. This wound up being about 1000 words longer than other chapters because I needed them to get stuff out of their systems.

When the tow truck pulled into the Andersons’ driveway, Oliver was not there to see it. Thank God. She gave Garnet a look, and the girl slammed the door on Wade’s truck and hightailed it into the house.

Felicity thanked Wade again and made her way to the cabin where she pulled off her sweaty shirt and shorts. She filled the bathroom basin with some cold water from the cistern and rubbed a washcloth over her face and neck while she considered her options.

Oliver had been gone all morning and into the afternoon now, although that wasn’t so unusual. She hadn’t missed his extra food purchase last night and that was probably part of a plan. He also took fairly regular brooding breaks - Felicity only interrupted if they went on too long - and  exercised a lot, sometimes for hours, which she didn’t quite get - because  _vacation_  - but she knew him well enough to understand there was an Oliver ratio of brooding to exercise, and the more he did of the latter, the less there was of the former. Bigger muscles were better than tortured psyche.

She walked to the closet and rummaged around for her duffle bag. It was way in the back, forgotten, and when she zipped it open, several of her vacation wardrobe discards tumbled out. There was that gorgeous blue dress Ray had bought her and she’d included for more formal occasions. Oliver had taken an irrational dislike to it, so she hadn’t ever worn it. She smoothed her hand over the wood of the vintage Dr. Scholls slides she’d found at a flea market in Pierre, South Dakota. Oliver disapproved of them. He thought they were completely impractical and sounded like Dutch clogs when she walked. Felicity sighed.

Ah, there they were - her jean shorts. They had been AG Farrah skinny jeans when they started their road trip, but after an unhappy hiking adventure she’d had to make them cut offs, and really short cut offs at that. When she’d finished hacking off the pant legs, nearly to the pockets, she’d tried them on to see if they were suitable for wearing outdoors. Oliver had taken one look at her in them and attacked. She had her answer: they were too short to wear out, but just the right length to wear  _in_.

The top he liked was also stuffed in there. A green bandana backless halter, cut into a low vee in front, it wasn’t her favorite. Paired with the shorts it made for a Daisy Duke outfit that was far too Farmer’s Daughter for Felicity’s taste, but really did something for Oliver. She found it somewhat amusing that Mr. Silver Spoon had such a working class turn on, but the brain was an interesting organ, and he never laughed at any of her kinks. So fair was fair.

Still, this was strictly a duffle bag outfit. Her other clothes didn’t really approve of it. Her other clothes didn’t have to deal with the jam she was in, though, did they? So they could stop being all judgy and help.

Felicity pulled on the shorts and halter and then found her brush on top of the dresser. She had a niggling feeling that this little costume might be even more effective if she were to pull her hair into pigtails, but, really, did she need to use that much butter? It’s not like she had been driving recklessly. The little girl had literally run right in front of her car. Oliver would have done the same thing if he’d been driving, right? Right.

Pigtail braids would be like bringing an missile launcher to a knife fight. Not only was it overkill, it tipped your hand and made your opponent wary. She needed her opponent not to be wary, but relaxed. Satiated, even. Mildly hypnotized and open to new information. She tugged the brush slowly through her hair.

When a damp hand touch her shoulder, she yelped in fright and whirled around.

A wet Oliver stood behind her grinning and holding his hands up. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

“Well, you did,” Felicity said, putting a hand to her throat. “It’s your sneaky, stealthy ninja walking. Can’t you be, you know,  _louder_? Some of us didn’t have assassin training as part of our spring quarter classes.”

Oliver’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything. Her comment hung in the air between them.

Felicity let her breath out and put a hand on his chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. You startled me. I wasn’t expecting you to just  _appear_.”    

Oliver pulled her into him and touched his lips to her hair. “I wasn’t trying to be sneaky or stealthy. The screen door banged pretty loudly when I came in. I thought you heard me.”

She shook her head and then she felt the dampness start seeping into the thin material of her halter and pulled away. “Why are you wet?”

“It’s a long story,” Oliver said, smiling. “Why are you wearing my favorite ‘Miss Sally Hayseed’ outfit?”

“You first,” she said, remembering her cue. Bitchy wasn’t going to get the job done. She flounced on the bed and patted the space beside her. Oliver sat down and joined her.

“Well, you know the boy,” he said.

“His name’s Aaron Niemands,” Felicity said.

Oliver raised an eyebrow at her. “Very good,” he said. “I’d ask you how you know, but this is still my part of the explaining?” Felicity smiled and nodded encouragingly. “I went to see him,” Oliver said.

“I figured,” she said. “It was either something like that or Greenville hosted a half marathon this morning. You needed the extra take-out carbs for something.”

He slanted a look at her, but she scooched herself closer to him on the bed. “I gave him the food and had a talk with him about his living arrangements and his safety. We moved his stuff up into the upper story of the barn after we’d cleaned it out, and then we washed off in the stream.”

“Thus the wet,” she said.

“That’s why I’m wet.”

“So he’s clean, safe, and fed now?” Felicity asked.

“He’s cleaner and safer,” Oliver said. “He’s probably hungry again, though. His food situation is kind of dire, and I don’t think he’s much of a hunter. Petunia is, though.”

“Petunia?”

“His dog. The coonhound you met and set free to go ungently into that good night.”

“Ooh, a Dylan Thomas reference,” Felicity said. “Brains  _and_  brawn. All that private schooling wasn’t a total waste.” She kissed him on the nose. “But I was pretty gentle. With  _her_. Last night.”

Oliver coughed. “Anyway. You’ll be glad to hear that she’s Aaron’s dog, and she’s with him now.”

“I  _am_  glad to hear that. The two of them need to be far away from that horrible meth pit, and they can look after each other, even if the barn situation isn’t ideal.”  

“For now, it’s fine,” he said. “We got rid of all the trash, food scraps, and anything sharp, and I made sure there’s a lock on the door to the loft room. We can make a run to town later today to pick him up some food.”

Uh, yeah, Felicity thought. About that...

“So what were you doing all morning?” Oliver asked.

“Garnet and I went to the library, and I had a chat with the librarian who looked up and printed out Aaron’s mother’s obituary for me. It’s on the table.” She pointed to it.

“ _Garnet_  went with you?”

“Yep. She asked. She’s smart and motivated, and she wants me to teach her how to code. And that’s almost everything that happened, although you should have seen the verbal one-two punch I gave this guy who was hassling Miss Peachey, the librarian.” She raised her fists and socked his chest lightly, “Pow! Pow! She was willing to look up anything I needed after I took care of him.”

Oliver gave her a long look and tucked a stray blond hair behind her ear. “You’re good at that,” he said. “At getting people to do what you want.”

“Well,” Felicity reached up and held his hand against her hair, “not all the time…”

“A lot of the time.”

“It helps,” she said, “when what the other person wants is the same thing I want.” And she moved in for the kill, sliding her other hand slowly up his chest and then touching one finger to the mole on the side of his mouth. It was such a sexy mole.

“That  _would_  help.”

“Mmhmm,” she said, and then she slid herself into his lap. She put her hands on either side of his jaw and his stubble scraped against her palms. Honest to God, she loved his scruff. He should never shave it off: just looking at it sometimes made her shiver. And while 65 percent of her mind was still on the bent front wheel of the Porsche sitting in the parking lot of Paul’s Service, at least 30 percent was actually on Oliver who just never stopped looking delicious. Some days she wondered if she would - if she  _could_  - ever get enough of his angel face and his miraculous body.

At this angle, looking up into his face, she could easily see how rounded his eyelids were underneath the heavy ridges of his eye sockets. He raised one eyebrow at her, so she levered herself up his body and kissed him.

His lips were soft, but firm and she closed her eyes and groaned a little as she pushed hers to his. He turned his head to get a deeper angle, and their tongues did a little dance together, something light and playful like a cha-cha-cha. She opened her eyes again and a bigger part of her mind noted how cool his irises were right now, not blazing blue, and how wide and blown his pupils  _weren’t_.

“Felicity,” Oliver said, pulling his lips away from hers.

“Yes?” She nuzzled her forehead against his chin.

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the attention. You’re always welcome to put on your sexpot outfit and slide yourself on top of me and suck on my face. Any time. Really. I don’t want to do anything to discourage that.” He smiled and slid  _his_  finger up to  _her_  mouth, pulling it open just a little.

She began to sense a trap. She tensed and swallowed. “But?” she said against that finger.

“But I did a quick loop around the farm before I came in here. I had to return something to May at the house, and I can’t help but wonder…”

“Wonder?” she said carefully. “Wonder what?”

“With all of this sudden attention you’re giving me, what exactly  _did_  you do to my car?”

  


>>\--->

  


Garnet finished snipping the end off her 17th million bean and set down her knife on the cutting board. She sighed. This bean tidal wave was only the beginning of what the garden would yield in the months ahead, and she was  _not cut out_  for this Amish existence.

She didn’t want to be ungrateful. She mostly liked her life. Her parents were good people, she pretty much got along with her sisters, her home was both big and cozy, and she enjoyed her homeschooling group. But she did not see the point of doing everything the old-fashioned way when there were easier and sometimes just plain better ways of doing the same things. Ways that didn’t require hours of mind-numbing, back-breaking labor in the hot sun. Was it so wrong to buy your green beans in a can?

She knew what her parents would say, that modern life separated people from the satisfaction of being tied intrinsically to the land and the community. That work made people humbler, stronger, and more capable. That they’d made this choice for their family because they’d seen too many families around them collapse or never spend time together outside of watching television.

For them it was different. Her parents took to this life like ducks to water. Her mother was always looking for ways to go back even further to the source. Why buy wool to knit sweaters when you could raise your own sheep? Who needed aspirin when you could go down to the stream and rip some willow bark off the tree there and then boil it up?

Her sister Ivy had a genuine affinity for working with animals, and May was happy as long as she was around people. But Garnet was bored to death with this whole low tech existence. She didn’t want to spend the next two months canning, drying, and putting things away for winter. She was ready for something - anything - to change.

Mrs. Queen’s arrival had seemed like an opportunity. Her homeschooling group leader was always emphasizing the job stability in the fields of engineering and technology, and last month they’d had a speaker come in to talk about negotiating tactics. He had emphasized that, in the beginning of a negotiation, you should always ask for more than you expect or perhaps even want, and then work down from there. So when she had the chance, that’s what she had done. Garnet wasn’t sure she wanted to code or even work in technology, but when Felicity talked about her job, it sounded awesome. And if she didn’t know if she wanted to code, she was sure she didn’t want to farm.

“Mom, I’m done with these beans,” Garnet said.

“Can you bag them up for me and put them in the cold cellar?” her mother asked.

“Sure,” Garnet said.

“And then can you go and see if the cherry trees in the back forty have anything on them yet? I’d like to make a pie if I can.”

“Okay,” she said and grabbed a bucket, thinking. The back forty was very near Mr. Neimands’s house. The old barn was back there too. She remembered Mr. Queen and his odd backpack request this morning. If she moved quickly, she could get her errand done and make a quick detour to check to see if her suspicions were correct: was there a boy living in their barn?

  


>>\--->

  


“Fe-li-ci-ty,” Oliver said in his brook-no-resistance voice, “how much further is this place?”

“We’re almost there,” she said, breathing hard and concentrating on staying upright. The sun felt twice as brutal reflected off the black asphalt, and she was sweating everywhere. Her halter top was drenched, and her hair was plastered to her neck; this must be her penance for, you know, not plowing over little girls.

Oliver gestured at the handful of businesses dotting the highway leading away from town. “I’m beginning to think you’re walking us in no particular direction, hoping --”

“What, that I’ll get sunstroke and die?”

He stopped and pursed his stupid lips at her. “I don’t know what. That I’ll age into infirmity and forget you wrecked my car?”

“Wrecked is such a harsh word, Oliver,” Felicity said. “Be more positive. Think of it more like a...dent or a minor wheel problem.” They were finally approaching the chain link fence surrounding the property around Paul’s Service, but she didn’t see the car yet.

In two more minutes they reached the entrance and turned the corner into the parking lot, and there it was: Tommy’s ruined Porsche.

It looked pretty bad in the harsh sunlight, far worse than it had surrounded by noisy children in the shade of the library’s big sycamores. Maybe it was just that she was seeing it through Oliver’s eyes now. She looked at him nervously, and wiped the sweat off of her forehead with her hand.

Oliver’s face had fallen, and he swallowed visibly. He went over to the passenger side of the car, kneeled, and put his hand over the damage. There were several large dents in the side panel near the fender that she hadn’t noticed before. Oliver looked up at her. “You’re sure you weren’t injured?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head.

“And Garnet’s okay too?”

She nodded.

He nodded and then clenched a fist and banged it against the hood. “Did you have to take my car, Felicity?” he asked in that semi-strangled tone she so disliked. “Couldn’t you have waited?”

“Waited? For what?” she asked defensively.

“For me to come back,” he said, standing and unclenching that hand slowly. “I would have driven you. I’d have been happy to drive you.”

“To drive me?” she said. “To  _drive_  me? Oliver, I’m twenty-six years old. I’ve been driving for ten years. And this wasn’t my fault. You can read the police report, even. The girl ran right in front of my car.”

“I know, I know,” Oliver said, running his hands over his temples. “It wasn’t your fault. But you didn’t  _ask me_  if you could take the car.”

“I know I didn’t ask you, and I know this car is important to you because Tommy gave it to you in his will…”

“‘For good times’ sake,’” Oliver said.

“For good times’ sake,” she said. “But the paternalistic bullshit you’ve had going with the driving - that was getting kind of old.”

“Paternalistic bullshit?” he said, his voice rising.

“Oliver,” she said, “We’re two thousand miles from home, and I’ve driven this car exactly once before, and you only let me because you were nearly unconscious after that incident at the beach.”

“Don’t bring up the beach,” he said. “I’ve explained that --”

“Yes, you have, and I don’t care about the beach thing. We can deal with that later, sometime when you’re in a more reasonable frame of mind. My point is, I’m a grown woman, an experienced driver...I have mechanical skills, even, and you won’t let me near those keys.”

“They’re Tommy’s keys,” he said as if that explained everything, and she supposed, in his mind, it did.

“I just thought,” she said. “I just thought if I took the car out and brought it back in one piece, you’d see that you’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous! Look at what happened!” Oliver said, gesturing. “You drove it, and now it’s wrecked.”

“It needs a few repairs,” she said. “It’s not ruined for good. I’ll  _pay_  for them. It shouldn’t be that much. I increased your insurance coverage in case of a situation like this since we were going to be traveling for an undetermined amount of time.”

“It’s not the money,” he said. “I can afford the deductible. I’m not entirely broke. You know that. It’s the principle. You took the car. You knew how I felt about it, and now…”

“Now?”

“I don’t know, Felicity. Now I guess I have to...I don’t know... _control my paternalistic bullshit_  and let you do whatever the hell you want to do with my stuff.”

“Okay, now you’re not being fair,” she said. “I use your stuff all the time, and you don’t care. You tell me to use your stuff.”

“I didn’t tell you to use this.”

Felicity opened her mouth, but Oliver was already talking again. In a rush, he said, “Look, I don’t want to argue about this. This was important to me, and you don’t get it, and, all right, maybe I’m overreacting, but…” He looked around the car yard and then waved in the direction they had come from. “You know your way back, right?”

When she nodded, he said, “Then I just need to clear my head,” and took off running towards town.

  


>>\--->

  


Garnet crept closer to the south side of the barn, careful not to bang the half full bucket of cherries with her knee. From under the pines here she could see that the tall weeds around the barn’s entrance had been trampled down recently and that two metal barrels full of trash had been set out ten feet from the barn door. An old reddish brown dog was lying on its back in a pool of sunshine lazily pawing at flies.

And there was a boy. He was sitting on a hardwood stump not far from the dog, whittling a stick with an old jackknife. What was his name? It started with an A, she thought. Alex, Andy, Aaron...Aaron - yes, that was it. Garnet set the bucket down carefully on the pine needle carpet underfoot and eased her way closer to him.

He had bushy eyebrows and an aquiline nose, and his thin face was both tanned and freckled. He was wearing an old Red Wings t-shirt and ripped jeans, and dark hair hung past his eyes and down to his high cheekbones. He was two things that instantly made him more interesting to her: an older boy, and someone in Greenville she actually didn’t know.  

Garnet took one more silent step towards him and then heard a sharp crack behind her. From out of the woods, a doe jumped and bounded around the barn and into the meadow beyond. The dog immediately rolled over, howled, and took off, and Garnet was left alone with the boy who had by now, most definitely, spotted her.

  
He stood up and took a long step toward her.  “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their fight, Oliver makes a supply run, and Felicity examines their relationship. Garnet makes Aaron an offer.

The commercial drag leading into town looked like every other in rural America, with one uninspired strip mall after the next.  The grass on the side of the highway was beginning to yellow in the heat. Oliver ran past a McDonalds, a Loyal Order of Moose lodge, and a Clark station. There was a sporting goods store tucked in here somewhere, right next to a bowling alley. He’d noticed it when he’d driven through before.

The rhythmic thumping of his feet against the asphalt was soothing to him. It jarred his feelings loose, and he could deal with them one at a time better than he could all at once. First there was his frustration with being at odds with Felicity. He really hated that. He was bad at fighting with her. It made him feel a little helpless. He was used to wailing on something - Diggle, a training dummy, a bad guy - when he got mad, but he couldn’t fight her physically.

He didn’t want to fight her with words either. Anything he could have said to her would have come out meaner and more accusatory than he meant. She was better at figuring out her emotions than he was. Hell, she was better at figuring out his emotions than he was. That’s why he was jogging this ugly path in the hot sun right now instead of sitting next to her on the cement stoop of the service station.

There was also the car, Tommy’s car. When he’d learned that Tommy had willed the Porsche to him - “for good time’s sake” - more than a year ago, he’d felt like he’d gotten a note from the grave, the best kind of note, the I-still-care-about-you kind. He’d put the car in storage to keep it pristine. He hadn’t touched it until two months ago when it had seemed the like the perfect vehicle for his “Rediscover Oliver Queen trip across America,” as Felicity had dubbed it, since the whole adventure was being fueled by forgiveness and understanding.

Well, forgiveness had taken it in the front passenger side, and wasn’t so pretty or untouched anymore. It could be fixed, yeah, put back together. Whatever you wanted to call it. Story of his fucking life.

And then there was the “paternalistic” comment. God damn it, he worked overtime to treat Felicity like an equal, like a partner, with his entire respect - ALL of it - and if he just wanted a little control over this one thing, was that so bad? It was his car. She knew how he felt about it. She’d been dropping hints like anvils - “You look tired. I could drive?" - since Oregon. The fact that he hadn’t taken her up on it should have been her number one clue that he wanted this for himself.

Was that so bad? Tommy hadn’t let any of his girlfriends drive his cars. He’d never let girls drive his cars. Well, maybe Laurel toward the end; Oliver wouldn’t be surprised. But before that it had been part of Tommy’s Code of Men that only bros drove the Porsche. Or the Mercedes. Or the Jag.

Oliver scanned the buildings in front of him. There it was, Davidson’s Sporting Goods. He slowed his pace and wiped his face on his sleeve. If he couldn’t figure out this thing with Felicity, he could at least straighten out the situation with the boy a little.

Inside the store it was cool and bright. After the heat outside, the air conditioning felt like it was on arctic. The cash register at the front of the store was sitting atop a glass case filled with rifles and handguns, and behind this counter hung a sign made from part of an old barn door. Someone had hand carved “Semper Fi” into the wood.

Oliver nodded at the tall man with the iron gray mustache who was restocking athletic shoes, grabbed a cart, and waded through racks filled with swimwear and running gear to the back of the store where the camping section was. Bare minimum, he needed to buy a sleeping bag, a small camp stove, some propane, a decent knife, a lantern, a padlock, and a water filter. Oh, and a can opener. He planned on making a stop at the IGA on the way back too. He looked down at the long scar on his left hand. Trying to open an aluminum can without a can opener was a good way to saw your hand off. He grabbed a first aid kit too and tossed it into the cart.

He was crouching in the tent aisle comparing different sleeping bags, weighing the boy’s comfort against his ability to transport the damn thing to him without a car, when the man with the mustache peekedstuck his head around the corner. “Are you finding everything okay?” he asked.

Oliver straightened and made his posture military. “I think you’ve got what I need, but, unfortunately, I’ve got something of a challenge getting anything I buy back to my bed and breakfast. Car accident.” He thought about throwing a “My girlfriend crashed my car” comment in to stir up some sympathy, but even in his douchiest days he hadn’t been the kind of guy who complained about women drivers. And Felicity was good behind the wheel; the accident hadn’t really been her fault.

Mustache guy - his name tag read “Glen” - nodded. “It’s too bad it’s the weekend. Otherwise you could rent something. Enterprise isn’t far from here.”

“I know,” Oliver said. “My car was towed to Paul’s. I was just there to see the damage. It’s going to take awhile to fix because the parts will have to travel, but I could make do with just a motorbike for a few days. We’re out at the Andersons’.”

Glen smiled in recognition. “Living off the grid, huh? How do you like it?”

“I do, sir,” Oliver said, “I’ve lived in far more primitive conditions, of course. My wife might miss her cell phone, though.” Felicity would not appreciate his shoring up of that untruth, but men like Glen often had certain soft spots, and he had certain urgent transportation requirements.

“How long are you staying with the Andersons?” Glen asked.

“A week or so,” Oliver said. “They don’t know it yet, but our reservation just got extended - if they’ll have us, that is. I don’t think Pete will mind. Caroline looks like she may go into labor any day, and my wife has gotten attached to the girls.”

Glen gave him an appraising look. A man-to-man look. A soldier-to-soldier look. “Let me make a couple of calls,” he said. “You get what you need here and meet me at the front counter.”

“Thank you,” Oliver said, smiling. “Whatever you can do, I’d very much appreciate. Sir.”

  


>>\--->

  


Aaron looked at the girl in disbelief. What was with all of the company today? He’d been living two whole months here in the abandoned barn, completely unnoticed, and suddenly it was Grand Central Fucking Station.

The muscled guy, Oliver, had been bad enough, but now he had a girl in a weird bandana and a ridiculous bracelet spying on him, and, unless he missed his guess, this one could cause him real trouble. She was from the farm; he’d seen her plenty of times on his food runs. He thought she was the oldest girl, but he couldn’t be sure.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked again.

She bristled and raised her finger. “What the - what are you doing here?” she asked. “Last I checked this is my dad’s farm, and my dad’s barn. So I think I’m the one who should be asking the questions.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, “no one’s using this place.” Brilliant. He was all kinds of brilliant today, that was for sure.

She took another step toward him. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Why do you want to know?” Oh my god. It was like he was reading off of Dialogue for Stupid People cards. Two months of not talking to anyone at all had clearly had an effect on him.

She flipped her blond braid over her shoulder and gave him a sly smile. “I think I already know it,” she said. “Is it Aaron?”

He felt his mouth drop open. “How do you know that?”

“I just do,” she said. “I know lots of stuff. My name’s Garnet.”

“Garnet, huh? Yeah, well, stay out of my business. You’ve got no reason to know my name, and it’s probably dangerous if you do.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re funny,” she said. “Why would knowing your name put me in danger? Are you supposed to be like really scary? Because you don’t look that scary. Kind of bedraggled, yes, and a little grimy. But not scary.”

He ran his hand through his hair. Grimy? He’d spent all afternoon, practically, in the stream. Oliver had made him scrub himself with sand. Finally he said, “Not me. My uncle is, though. It’s always better to avoid him or anyone connected to him.”

“Mr. Niemands?” she asked.

“He deals meth. And he knows a lot of horrible people.”

“Well, he’s not dealing meth anymore,” she said. “The police are looking for him. I read it today in the newspaper.”

Aaron let out his breath. Finally, some good news. Hopefully they’d locked the bastard up by now, and if his uncle was definitely not in the house, he could sneak back over later and get some of his stuff. Clothes, his picture album, maybe a few books. He wasn’t going to admit it, but he felt safer and more comfortable in the loft now, especially since the door locked. He was also glad Oliver had liberated Tunie.

The girl wandered closer to the barn door. “So you are living here?” she asked. “No offense, but it’s kind of a sty. I mean, part of it was an actual sty. And there’s a hole in the roof. A big one.”

“It’s not that big,” Aaron said. “It doesn’t rain too often.” He stopped himself and glared at her. “Look, this barn’s better than where I was living before, so I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tattle on me. It’s clear that no one’s used this place in a long time. I’m not causing any harm. In fact, I spent today cleaning it out. I’ll be moving on soon anyway.”

The girl looked both disappointed and unconvinced. “How soon?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Where are you going?”

“Again, it’s none of your business.”

“Because,” she said slowly, “it looks to me like you’re squatting in my dad’s old barn because you’re homeless and running from your uncle and the law.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not ‘ _running from the law_.’ You’re such a girl.”

She put her hands up, conciliatory. “Fine,” she said. “Don’t face facts. Live in your world of delusion. It’s no skin off my nose if you stay here, but rather than scrounging up squirrels and dandelion greens for dinner, I might be able to find something better for you to do. If you’re nice to me.”

“Something better?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Work on the farm,” she said. “My dad could use the help. My mom’s going to have a baby really soon, and he’s already busy enough. He needs someone to pitch in, and you could use the money, I think. And the extra food.” She gave him a once over that told him she knew how many meals he’d skipped lately.

Aaron frowned. “Why would you want to help me?” he asked finally.

“Because it seems like you’ve had terrible luck lately,” she said in an overly pious voice, and then she grinned. “And because it will shake things up around here. Something interesting has to happen soon, or I am going to _die of boredom_.”

  


>>\--->

  


Felicity surveyed the lot of Paul’s Service. There was only one shady spot. It was by the building itself, which was a cement block rectangle flanked by mature oak trees. She thought longingly about the granola bars and the bottles of water they kept in the trunk of the Porsche - it had been a long time since those breakfast strawberries - but since Oliver had the only set of keys, that was a no go.

She rummaged in her pockets and found a five-dollar bill which she took over and fed into the soda machine that stood in between the front door of the building and the first car bay. She grabbed her Diet Coke when it came thunking down, and went to sit on the front stoop to drink it. Seagulls hovered over the empty lot next door, crying and swooping. She watched them, and as her body cooled off, so did her temper.

No, she wasn’t excited that her boyfriend had snapped at her and then literally run off without her, but it was pretty textbook Oliver; an improvement over earlier chapters, actually. Since they’d left Starling, they’d been duking it out on many levels - consciously, subconsciously - about how much he’d tolerate her doing. He’d given up being the Arrow, and he was committed to keeping her away from any danger. It was ludicrous given what they’d both just been through and survived, but given what they’d both just been through and survived, she’d figured he’d earned a mental break.

It was going to be an issue, though. That was clear. She’d have to keep negotiating with him, pushing him to let her drive the car, go in the meth house, be an active participant in their mutual adventures, and it was going to be a pain. It was. The alternative, though, was living without him. She couldn’t face that - she wouldn’t face that - so they were going to have to figure out how to make things work. She knew it was possible; she believed in them, maybe more strongly than she’d ever believed in anything else, even their mission.

So she was going to have to take her lumps. The car - that was her fault. Not the accident, but trying to force the issue rather than wait for his permission to drive it. He had the right to be mad. Oliver could be an ass, but he had a point, and she was woman enough to see it.

She pulled out her cell phone and looked at the time. It was nearly five o’clock. She figured he’d be coming back through here any time now, so she stood up, tossed her Diet Coke bottle in the recycling, and started walking back the way she came. If they were going to argue again, she wanted to occupy the moral high ground this time.

  


>>\--->

 

  
Oliver spotted her green halter from a mile back on the flat road, and as he approached he carefully navigated the overloaded Vespa so that it wouldn’t crowd her. He idled behind her for a few minutes, observing. Her posture was more relaxed now. Strands of her hair had escaped from her ponytail and were plastered to the back of her neck. He wanted to reach out and smooth them away, but instead he just waited. Finally she turned around.

He pulled the scooter up beside her and braked. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she said.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” he said in a low voice.

Felicity shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken the car. It’s your car. I was trying to push you into letting me do something I wanted instead of waiting until you were ready.”

Until he was ready. What made her think he was ever going to be ready - for any of this? She had a lot of faith in him. He hoped it was not misplaced.

“I shouldn’t have run off,” he said. “I just didn’t trust what was going to come out of my mouth next.”

“I knew you’d come back,” she said. “You always do.”

He got off the Vespa and stood next to her. “How long did you sit at the service station thinking about what an ass your boyfriend is?”

“About 45 minutes,” she said. “Long enough to realize that if you’re an ass, you’re my ass. Well, you’re not actually my ass...I have my own ass - but, well, you know what I mean.”

“I do.” He reached out and touched her ponytail, sliding his fingers through the strands and down to the back of her neck.

She looked past him at the loaded down Vespa. “Looks like you’ve been busy,” she said. “This is a super dorky motorcycle you’ve picked out. It looks like something I’d drive. Purple?”

Oliver swallowed a smile. “First of all, it’s silver, not purple,” he said. “And it’s not a motorcycle, it’s a scooter. We’re lucky to have it at all. I was only able to get it asking the guy at Davidson’s if he knew if I could find one for a few days. This is his daughter’s; she’s in Spain for two weeks. It doesn’t have a lot of storage, but fortunately it comes with a topcase and front chrome rack. We’ll need them to haul stuff. Since my girlfriend crashed my car.” He let that smile go.

She leaned into him and wrapped an arm around his waist. “And all this stuff? The sleeping bag? A lantern? Groceries?”

“They’re for the boy,” he said. “Kids who go through his kind of stuff -  they feel helpless. But people who learn to take care of themselves don’t. It’s just camping supplies and some food.”

He lifted up the seat on the Vespa. “That reminds me,” he said. “I got something for you.” He pulled out a chocolate pastry and a Diet Coke and handed them to her. “Until we get back.”

The look Felicity gave him was so fond and so proud that he something forming in his throat. He looked down at his feet.

“C’mere you,” she said, awkwardly pulling his face down to hers with her full hands. Her lips were a bit sweaty and chapped from the sun, but she tasted like forgiveness, and he realized Tommy’s Porsche wasn’t the only sign he had of that great gift. Also: the pastry had been worth the extra trip to the bakery section. His woman could kiss. Yes, she could.

Finally, Felicity pulled away, and she gave the scruff on his face a rub and a firm pat. He pulled the key to the scooter from his pocket. “We can’t both fit on this with all this stuff, so I’m going to need you to drive it down past the meth house and into the woods. We’ll drop these supplies off to the boy, and I’ll explain to him how to use it. After that, we can grab some dinner, okay? Lady’s choice.”  

“And where are you going?” she asked.

“I’ll follow you. It’s only a mile or so. I’ll meet you there in 7, maybe 10 minutes.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll meet you there in 7 minutes,” she mimicked. “It’s like 85 degrees out, and you’ve spent half the day running. Do you have to be such a stud?”

He reached out to tickle her ribs, and caught her food when she squealed and dropped it. “I don’t have to be,” he said. “But you like it.”

“I do,” she said. “Mmhmm. Show me later.” She hopped on the scooter and put the key in the ignition.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said as he watched her speed away. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity are surprised to see Aaron and Garnet together. And, yes, later on they _finally_ have sex (unless you count [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4217196/chapters/9811599), which may or may not have happened).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: the rating of this story just went WAY up for sexy content.

Oliver guided the scooter carefully over the ruts in the forest floor, trying to avoid any damage to the tires. Felicity sort of skip ran beside him. The old barn was just around this clump of trees, he thought before he saw a flash of gray. Yeah, there it was. He drove up to the barn door and cut the scooter’s engine.

“Aaron?” He got no answer, and Felicity called the boy’s name again.

Aaron stuck his head out of the upstairs window and nodded at him, looking with some suspicion at Felicity, and then another face peeked around from behind him.

“Garnet?” Felicity said. “ _What_ are you doing here?”

A couple of expressions flitted across Garnet’s face, including guilt, but she lifted her chin and said, “It’s my dad’s barn and my dad’s property. I have the right to be here.”

“Does your dad know you’re back here with a boy?” Felicity asked. “I bet if I went and informed him right now, he’d be surprised to hear that. Would you say that’s a true statement, Garnet?”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell him,” she said. “He won’t understand.”

“I don’t understand,” Felicity said. “At what point today did I tell you to seek this boy - who you don’t know at all - out and confront him?”

“She’s not back here _with_ me,” Aaron said, interrupting. “She came to spy on me, and she wouldn’t leave. This isn’t some kind of boy/girl thing. It’s not like I’m into elementary school kids.”

“Middle school,” Garnet said, “This fall I’ll be in sixth grade. I’m not a baby.”

“Oh, yeah,” Aaron said. “Sixth grade. Big difference.” He rolled his eyes. “Will you get her out of here?”

As entertaining as this little show was, it was nearing dinnertime, and there were two kids here who had to eat. One of those kids could actually get them kicked out of their accommodations, too, with her misadventures; that was less amusing. Oliver cleared his throat. “I’ve got some supplies down here. Can you two help me bring them up?” He began to unload the scooter, and when Aaron appeared, he stuffed several packages in his hands. Garnet got both bags of groceries, and he hauled the heavier items through the barn and up the stairs to the loft. Felicity followed with the sleeping bag.

“What’s all this?” Aaron asked when they’d brought the supplies up.

“Just a few things to make things a bit easier out here for you,” Oliver said. “We’ll go over how to use the propane stove before I leave. You’ve got to be really careful with that.”

“A gas stove!” Garnet said. She dug through her bags and took out some food. “Canned beans! Can you show me how to cook them on the stove? We never get to cook with gas.”

Oliver smiled. “I’d be glad to,” he said. “Some other time. Do you know how late it is? I’m pretty sure your parents will be wondering where you are.”

Garnet kicked the toe of her shoe against the loft floor. “Yeah, well, that might be true,” she said. “They’re pretty busy these days. They probably didn’t notice I haven’t come back yet.”

“Felicity will take you on the scooter,” Oliver said. “I’ll give Aaron the rundown on this stuff and catch up.”

“And we’ll have a chat about putting yourself in dangerous situations,” Felicity said. “With strange boys you don’t know.”

“I’m not strange,” Aaron said. “And - _again_ \- I didn’t ask for her to come out here and ask me a bunch of nosy questions.”

Garnet glared at him. “Okay, Mrs. Queen,” she said. “On the way back we can talk about my idea to have Aaron work on the farm too.”

 

>>\--->

 

By the time Oliver and Felicity finally got back to their cabin it was nearly dark. Felicity felt like she’d been put  through the wringer, and she needed a bath, like, stat. Her halter was drenched with sweat and her shorts had ketchup all over them from an accident at dinner. As soon as the door closed behind them, she started peeling them off.

“I think that’s it for Miss Sally Hayseed,” she said. “I’m burning these clothes.”

Oliver frowned. “We’ll thrown them in the laundry. I’m sure they’ll be fine after a wash.”

“No,” she said.

“What do you mean, ‘No?’” he asked. “You can’t trash a perfectly good outfit like that. It would be wrong.”

“I mean, I knew those shorts were too skimpy to wear out, and I should never have let you frog march me to Paul’s before I changed.”

“They’re just shorts,” Oliver said. “It’s not like anyone really saw you in them anyway. The road was empty on the way there, and you made me get take out at the restaurant. The park was deserted too. Aaron and Garnet don’t really count.”

“The road was empty _on the way_ to Paul’s,” Felicity said. “Or maybe it wasn’t, and we didn’t notice because we were together and no one’s going to say anything if I’m with you. On the way back, though, I got some attention.”

Oliver’s eyebrows came down. “Attention?”

“A couple of guys in cars, and one man in a tan truck actually drove by twice so he could get a second whistle in. The truck had those mudflaps - the ones with silhouette of the girl with the exceedingly perky breasts? Gross.”  

Oliver’s lips twitched, “Exceedingly perky breasts?”

“Oliver, pay attention. He circled around to take another look at me in these shorts we’re going to burn.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, “I’m sorry. For my part in this _and_ his. But don’t you think you’re being a little hasty? About the shorts?” he asked, bouncing lightly on his heels. “What can I do to make you reconsider?”

She thought about it. “I’d like a bath,” she said. “A warm one. I want to wash my hair.”

Oliver considered. “It’ll take a little while to heat up the water,” he said. “I’ll light a fire in the stove. It won’t be as good as a bath at home, though. Don’t get your hopes up too high - it’s tricky to mix the hot and the cold water just right without either scalding yourself or shivering your way through. People truly underestimate what a benefit modern plumbing is.”

“These seem like excuses, Oliver,” Felicity said. “I expected better from you. If you’re going to be a defeatist, you might as well toss the shorts in with the wood.”

He gave her _that_ look, but went to work on the stove. Then he filled a large metal cauldron with water from the cistern and set it on top to heat.  She went and found her shampoo, a razor, and a bar of scented soap from the fancy hotel they’d stayed in in Kansas City. She pulled her hair out of it’s ponytail holder and brushed it out. After that she wetted down a washcloth in the cauldron and used it to shave her legs.

Meanwhile Oliver circled about the room lighting the kerosene lamp and candles. He took two of them into the bathroom and examined the cistern. It had a long tap that could be moved from the sink to the claw-footed bathtub. He ran a substantial amount of water in the tub and then went and hauled the cauldron in and dumped most of it, mixing the hot and cold carefully together. He touched a hand to the water and swished it around for a minute. “Ready,” he said.

Felicity stepped carefully into the tub, and the water surrounded her aching feet, warming and soothing them. She took her washcloth and ran it up and down her legs.  “Mmm,” she said. “Nice.” She sat down and leaned her head back to wet her hair. She gave Oliver a coy glance from underneath her lashes. “Join me?”

He shot her a different look this time, and she shivered, but it wasn’t because the water was too cold. He pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it on the bathroom floor, and his shorts and underwear followed. Then he eased in behind her, putting his legs on either side of hers. It was a little cramped, but the wall of warmth that was his muscled chest pressed against her back made up for the space he took up.

She peered at him over her shoulder. “Wash my hair?” When he nodded, she passed back the shampoo bottle, and she heard him open it. Then he was smoothing his fingers through her hair and up to her scalp. His thumbs rubbed the nape of her neck as his fingers massaged the lather into her scalp line. He worked the longer strands into a bundle on top of her head.

“Your hair’s getting long again,” he said. “I like it that way.”

She suppressed a smile. “Of course you do. You’re a guy.”

“Don’t cut it yet?”

“I won’t,” she said. “It’s easier to put up when it’s longer. I’ve got to find a hairdresser, though. My roots are starting to show.”

“I like your roots,” he said and dug the pads of his fingertips into them. “They’re cute. It’s kind of an 80’s look for you. It goes great with really, _really_ short shorts.”

“Don’t push it,” she said. “You were doing so well.”

“Oh, I’m still doing well,” he said. “I think we both know it.” His fingers slid down to her shoulders, and he began to knead there. She groaned and let herself sink back into him.

“Don’t gloat. It’s unattractive,” she said.

“Hmm?” Thumbs dug into her shoulder blades and then slowly but firmly worked their way down her spine and then up again. “Time to rinse,” he said, and he gently pushed her forward in the bathtub and lowered her head into the space between his knees. She lifted her hands to help, but he pushed them away, and directed the water around her face and through her hair.

She sat up and pivoted carefully in the tub. “Your turn,” she said and made a circling motion with her finger. He complied, smiling, and she pulled him back into her lap, cupping water with her hands to splash through his hair. Then she grabbed the shampoo and pooled a little into one hand. “Your hair’s getting longer too. This part in the front is starting to stick up again.” It wasn’t the only part of him either, she noted. She slid her fingers through his hair and worked the shampoo through.

“What does it look like when it’s long?” she asked.

“Bad,” he said. “I keep it short on purpose. Also because it doesn’t get in the way.”

“It might be sexy long,” she said, cupping her hands and rinsing.

“It’s not,” he said. “Don’t get any of your book cover fantasies going again. The overall effect is more ‘homeless guy.’” He sat up.

She ran her fingers up his back and touched his brand. “This is healing better now.” She put her mouth on his shoulder and kissed it. “I’m so sorry I had to leave you there.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “I’m glad you did. I didn’t want you there for that.”

“It must have been awful.”

He made a low assenting noise in his throat and turned himself around, crossing his legs in front of himself. Then he pulled her in his lap. The state of his arousal was no longer in any way ambiguous. She slipped her legs around his chest and then she took his face in her hands and kissed him.

His mouth was soft and dry compared to the wet stubble of his chin, and she kissed him open mouthed, nibbling at his top lip. She began to grind down leisurely, slowly, and his hands moved around to her back and shifted her weight up and higher into his lap. She felt his thick cock slide against her heat. Mmmm. Yeah, there, she thought, and she put her hands on his shoulders and lifted herself up, and then down again, taking him inside. The stretch of him entering her was over too soon.

He groaned and moved one large hand up to her breast where he began to roll a nipple through his fingers. She slid up and then down on his cock, lips still grazing on his, gently touching his tongue with hers, but he broke the kiss and pushed his face into the crook between her neck and shoulder and began sucking on her collarbone.

“Ooh, oh,” she said, “There. Just like that.” It was easy and relaxed, but she could feel her desire growing as the waves they were making in the tub lapped against her waist. She tried to lever herself so she could increase the pace, but she slipped on the wet porcelain, and banged awkwardly against him. His cock slid out, and her face wound up slammed into his collarbone.

His hands were on her ribs then, balancing her, and he huffed a laugh at her disgruntlement. “There are a couple of ways to make this happen,” he said and hugged her. “But on a scale of 1 to 10, bathtub sex is like a 2. It’s slippery, hard to get any leverage, and the water goes everywhere.”

She pulled away from him, a little embarrassed at not pulling this romantic gesture off. “So you’re saying you want to stop?”

“No,” he said. “I’m saying I think we’ve sucked the marrow out of the bathtub portion of tonight’s events. What happens from here will be about twenty times better if I just move us fifteen feet to the bed.”

“But I’ve never had bathtub sex before,” she said. “And it’s supposed to be so romantic. The candles and the warm water…” She noticed, though, how lukewarm the bathwater had gotten. There were candles in the other room as well. 

“Okay,” he said and began nuzzling that same spot below her ear. She tried to get purchase again with her feet, but the bathtub was narrow and Oliver wasn’t, and it was kind of impossible. She sighed. Heavily.

“It’s really not good?” she asked.

“Let me put it this way,” he said. “It’s not as bad as sex on an anthill, but it’s worse than sex in a police car. And it’ll be quite a lot worse than any kind of sex with you on a decent mattress.”

“You’ve had sex in a police car?”

He shrugged.

“I haven’t ever had sex in a bathtub before, but you’ve had sex on an anthill…”

“Not on purpose,” he said.

“And in a police car.”

“I was immature.”

“And I’ve lost the mood,” she said.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Oliver said, and he lifted her up and grabbed a towel from the chair next to the bathtub. “You’re not using my past against me.”

Despite herself she laughed. “I’m not, Oliver. It’s just, you know, anthills and police cars…”

“It was bad sex, Felicity,” he said, wrapping the towel underneath her and then carrying her through the doorway and over to the bed. “I’m not nostalgic for it now.”

“Still,” she said.

“I see I’m going to have to bring in the big guns to rescue the moment and those shorts,” he said and dropped her. She bounced on the mattress. He pulled the towel out from underneath her and flung it to the side.

“Big guns?” she asked.

“Всё под контролем,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “Ooh, the Russian,” she said, laying back on the mattress. “You’re going to talk dirty to me in Russian?”

“I guess you won’t know if it’s dirty, will you? You don’t speak Russian. Now, не волнуйся, я обо всём позабочусь.”

“I _love_ the Russian,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “But this portion of the program, starting right now, will be in Russian and only in Russian.” He narrowed his blue gaze at her.

“How do you say, ‘Yes, please,’?”

“Да, пожалуйста.”

“Da, pozh all stah?” She wriggled on the bed. His voice got like 7 octaves lower when he spoke in Russian. Or maybe that’s just where she lived when he spoke it: six stories below the gutter. Oh my god.

“Mmm,” he said, “Правильно. Руки вверх.” He climbed on the bed, pulled her arms up and over her head, and then held them with one hand. “Хорошо.” Then he eased her legs apart with his knee, grabbed her from behind, and in one movement, slid inside her again. She twisted her legs around his back and tilted her hips to get a better angle.

“Предоставь это мне,” he said and adjusted her hip. He reached in between them and touched her in gentle circles as he moved slowly in and out of her.

Between the Russian, the motion of his thick cock, and his hand, she was suddenly more than back in the game. She was the game. Was this a game? It couldn’t be. The games she played were never this good. Big guns, she thought, biting into the muscle of his left arm. He had definitely brought out the big guns. “Da, poshal stah,” she said, panting.

“Тебе нравится это?” He levered her ankle up over his shoulder and moved faster inside of her. The angle made her gasp.

“Yes, yes,” she said, “Oh, yessssss.” It was coming, that wave of pleasure. She could feel it, almost there.

“Нет, по-русски,” he said. But despite the harsh border-guard-y look he’d  previously assumed, his lips were pulling up, his blue eyes twinkling and then glazing over. He let go of her hands to prop himself better on the bed, and his mouth came down on hers, and the stubble, and she was just --

“Ooooooh,” she said. “Oooh, yes, I mean, da. Whatever. Oliver, my God, I love you. I love the way you do this. Don’t stop. Please, just...oh, oh. Oh!” There it was. There. It. Was.

“Боже мой,” Oliver groaned, slowing. He tensed, kissed her again and then collapsed on top of her.

 

>>\--->

  
“Okay, I’ll keep the shorts,” she said, and he had to smile, he couldn’t help it. Her face was so flushed and relaxed. And pretty; she was so pretty. Boneless too. He’d done that, and it was so satisfying. To have that with her, to give her that.

He rolled on his back and pulled her with him on his chest. She laid her head there, and they breathed together, heartbeats slowing, at peace. But he felt it in her posture when her brain finally got up and going again.

“Anthills? Really?” she asked.

“It was an island, Felicity,” he said. “There was a lot of wildlife. Most of it unfriendly.”

“Only you could figure out how to get laid on a deserted island,” she said.

He shrugged. It hadn’t been that way, but they’d waded into her insecurities before, and he was getting better at navigating them.

“Which girl…”

He kissed the top of her head. “Солнышко моё,” he said, “if you need to ask me anything about my sexual history, I’ll tell you. I won’t keep it secret. But I’m not sure it’s going to be a productive conversation, you know? Will it make you feel better? I mean, I don’t want to know about you and Ray. Or you and Cooper. Or anyone else.”

“There’s a lot less to know, I’d say.”

He hoped there was less for her to regret as well. Some of the shit he’d done had been truly thoughtless. Criminally careless, in fact. He’d gotten arrested for that cop car stunt, and he’d gotten the girl arrested too. Stupid.

“I can’t undo it, Felicity,” he said. “But it’s not just exercise with you. You know I love you. All of that other stuff before - I wasn’t the same person. And I don’t ever want to be that person again.”

Finally she nodded. “Okay,” she said.

“Okay?”

“Sometimes I feel like there’s all of this history between us. All of the trauma, everything you’ve been through...and the women...you keep telling me I shouldn’t worry.”

“That’s right, you shouldn’t. Don’t worry.”

“But it’s just...well, you’re so…”

“Wrecked?”

She shook her head emphatically. “So gorgeous. And sexy.” She let her hands glide across his chest, fingernails scraping. “And so capable and loving. You can build a fire, fly a plane, talk someone into giving you their motorcycle --”

“Scooter. And I rented it from him.”

“And you speak Russian…”

“And I love _you_ ,” he said. “You’re the only woman who saw me for what I could be and never stopped believing I _would_ be. You’re the one who saw what I was trying - not what I was failing - to do, to be. You didn’t care that I’d lost my company, that I lost my money, that I couldn’t save Starling City. You came and got me on Lian Yu, you came for me in Nanda Parbat, and you saved me when I fell off the dam. Come on, Felicity. Do you think I could give a good God damn about another woman after that? You’ve ruined me for other women.”

She let out a sputtering laugh, and the look in her eyes lightened. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?” she asked.

“You are,” he said, “But I put you through hell getting here. So I don’t mind telling you - and showing you - how I feel. If you need to hear it. Whenever you need to hear it.”

“All right,” she said.

“Good,” he said. “And I’m glad we got all that cleared up about the shorts. I’m very partial to the halter too. You don’t even know how hot you look in that outfit, with the freckles on your nose, and your round sexy ass. It is truly fine.” He made a grab for it, and she giggled. “If we see that guy in the tan truck with the mudflaps, though, I’m going to show him what to do with his wolf whistle. Yer my woman, Miss Sally Hayseed, and he best be knowin’ it.”

She laughed, and he dug his hands into the ticklish spot at her waist until she raised her hands in surrender. And then he leaned in and kissed her senseless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does Oliver say in Russian? It's really easy phraseology. I tried getting the translation to hover over the Cyrillic script, using the span title html, but it didn't work.  
> Anyway, the Russian is: 
> 
> Everything's under control.  
> Don't worry, I'll see to everything.  
> Yes, please.  
> Right. Raise your hands. Good.  
> Let me do that.  
> Do you like that?  
> No. In Russian (speak Russian).  
> My God. 
> 
> And, finally, the pet name: Sunshine (It's really a diminutive form of sun "my little sun," but we don't say that in English.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver talks to Pete about the boy, and Felicity intervenes during a crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this got LONG. In this chapter we get to know Ivy. I liked writing the sibling dynamic between Garnet and Ivy. I have a sister myself, and she's the BEST. 
> 
> This chapter's for you, Vaness.

The next morning was cooler, and Felicity heard the steady thump-thump of raindrops against the cabin’s roof as Oliver got bored with his little wake-up meditation routine and rolled over to stare at her. She shut her eyelids tight.

“You’re awake,” he said.

She held her body completely still. Her breathing pattern already matched his “Perching Bird” or “Sluggish Opossum” or whatever the heck comatose animal it was supposed to be that represented a natural restful state. Who had to do that, imagine animals to remain in bed when it was still practically the middle of the night?

“It’s nine o’clock,” Oliver said.

She pursed her lips.

“Okay, 8:57,” he said. “But you haven’t made it to breakfast since the first morning we were here.”

Felicity thought breakfast was overrated in general. Caroline’s was more than worth eating, but nothing really beat sleeping in. Oliver’s priorities were all out of whack, but they often were.

“The _most_ important meal of the day,” he said. “They’ll have made bacon and eggs. And waffles. I asked Caroline if she could yesterday, just for you. So now you have to go.”

Felicity reached down for the quilt covers and pulled them over her head. “Go ahead without me,” she said. “I’ll catch up.”

“You said that yesterday _and_ the day before. I no longer trust you about breakfast matters.”

He reached for the quilt, but she pulled it tighter against her. She felt his hand sneak down toward her hip, and she slapped at it. “Uh-uh,” she said. “Get away.”

“Are we playing that game again?” he asked. “At some point last night you told me if I didn’t let you rest a bit, you’d come at me with -- some sort of farm implement? A hoe? Or maybe it was a ‘ho.’’’ There was laughter in his voice.

She vaguely recalled saying something...some things. She certainly must have because her throat was hoarse enough this morning. She did remember what she’d been thinking as he pushed her, literally pushed her - slamming her hips rhythmically into the side of the tall antique bed as she struggled to keep herself steady on her shaking arms - towards another orgasm: _Never. Stop. Doing. That._

“Anyway, I couldn’t tell,” Oliver said. “You weren’t as coherent as you normally are for some reason,” he said and then he slid his hand down, rounded it around her ass, and pinched it. “You’re welcome.”

“Aren’t you cheerful this morning,” she said, closing her eyes. “Give me another fifteen minutes.”

“Nope,” he said and pulled the quilt away from her in one movement. “You’re getting up. Pull yourself together and get dressed. Once you get some coffee in you, you’ll be like a new woman.”

“Do you want a new woman?” she asked, putting a little warning in her voice.

“I want an awake and fed Felicity,” he said. “You’re not having Diet Coke and Oreos for ‘brunch’ again. We’ve got stuff to do, so come on. Daylight’s burning.”

She gave a big sigh and threw her legs over the side of the bed. The things she did for love.

 

>>\--->

 

The white farmhouse rose up out of a cloud, nearly invisible until they were almost upon it. The morning shower, in combination with the previous days’ heat, had created a thick fog on the ground, and it obscured most of the farm from Oliver’s vision. He let go of Felicity’s hand, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and gave her a kiss on her temple. “You go ahead. I’ve got to see Pete about that thing with Aaron. Save me some waffles, though.”

She gave that cute little pout. “You’re leaving me?” she asked. “You dragged me out of bed, and now you’re abandoning me? I thought you were the Breakfast Nazi.”

“I just need a few minutes to try and convince Pete to let Aaron work here. If I ask him now, maybe Aaron can start working today. The sooner he has something active and focused to do, the better.”

“Okay,” she said. “You take that good mood you’re in and go and charm him. I make no promises about what will be left if you take too long, though.” And she smiled that Felicity smile, 100,000 watts, scrunching her nose at him, and turned toward the house.

Oliver smiled to himself as he walked the path to the barn. Last night he’d worked out a lot of his tension with Felicity in the best possible way, and he felt loose and limber and uncharacteristically optimistic. The car would be fixed. The boy could be helped. Even the rain made for a nice change. It would feel good to run in the rain.

The stones on the path were slick with wet, and he noticed the herb garden was overgrown with weeds. Everything could use the rain; it had been sunny and hot for days, and the plants had been beginning to wilt. They were perking up now. He hadn’t seen Pete in the garden or the fields, and he thought he might be inside the barn waiting for the rain to stop. It was as good a guess as any.

He followed the path all the way around the barn to the rear entrance. Some ambitious settler had constructed the foundation of the barn out of stone which gave it a rather timeless look. Large limbed bushes with bright pink flowers all over them grew along the stone walls, and their discarded blossoms littered the ground. He reached the entrance and ducked in through the low wooden door frame, calling out to Pete. He heard someone banging around in the rear stalls, and he walked toward the noise.

Pete wasn’t in the rear stalls. He was nearby, though, digging through the drawers of a large work bench, tossing stuff on the floor as he searched for something. Oliver lightly kicked a milk pail to alert him of his presence, and Pete looked up, but without any focus.

He was a tall man, very broad shouldered, with thick blond hair and a bit of a receding hairline that was almost always covered by an OSU baseball cap. Today was no exception. He was wearing overalls, and his cheeks were unshaven, but it did nothing to hide the high color of his gentle face. Right now that face was frowning, though.

“Oh, hi, uh, Oliver,” Pete said, rubbing the back of his neck absentmindedly. “Sorry about breakfast. Caroline wasn’t feeling very good this morning. I hope you don’t mind too much. I can give you a break on today’s rental.”

“No, it’s fine.” Oliver said, feeling uneasy. Something was wrong. “I was coming to talk to you about something else, but it looks like you’re in the middle of something.” He studied the man’s posture. It was usually so easy; Pete loped rather than walked, in fact. Right now everything in him seemed mildly electrified. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Pete said, “yeah, it’s fine, it’s just...well, no, _it’s not fine_. Caroline started bleeding last night. Just a little, but it’s concerning, and I can’t find the cell phone I keep down here in case of emergencies like this. The battery on the truck’s dead too.”

Oliver crossed his arms. “She’s bleeding? That doesn’t sound good. Do you need a car?”

“It’s not good,” Pete said, “but I don’t know how bad it is, and I don’t know if I need the truck. She had bleeding with an earlier pregnancy, and that one didn’t go so smoothly. And, of course, she says it’s fine and don’t worry.” He slammed the drawer in front of him shut and started rummaging about in a wooden milk crate. Then he stopped and looked up.

“You know, you’re going along in college, and everything is fine. You major in engineering, everything’s mapped out before you, and then you meet this girl, and you think, ‘What’s the harm?’ A little flirtation with a cute hippie girl, what could go wrong?” He turned the crate over and dumped out the contents. “And the next thing you know, it’s 15 years later, you’ve got forty acres of crops to get in, and your wife wants to have a home birth for her fourth child. A home birth!” He pawed through the stuff on the tool bench. Then he turned to Oliver. “I just want my wife and new baby to be healthy and safe, is is so important that I be ideologically consistent?  And, no, I don’t think it’s romantic! Is it romantic when a cow calves in the barn?

Pete pulled his hat off his head and ran his hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he said. “ _Sorry_. I’m just stressed. I don’t have pickers scheduled, of course, because we don’t monocrop. I’m not sure how I’m going to get everything done as it is, and when Caroline started to bleed last night...”

“Do you need a cell phone?” Oliver asked. “Because Felicity and I have both got one. I have an extra one at the cabin, even. We charged them last night when we went out to dinner.”

Pete relaxed his shoulders. “That would really help. I’ve got to get a hold of the midwife. For now I’ve insisted Caroline go on bed rest. She’s got four more weeks, and I’d like to get her through as many of them as I can. If we need your car, can we use it?”  

Oliver made a face. “I would say yes, but the car had a little accident yesterday. I’m going to the car rental place in town tomorrow when they open again. Would you like me to look for a certain kind of vehicle?”

Pete smiled. “No, but thanks. I just have to be able to get Caroline to the hospital if I need to. Any car will do. I really appreciate it.”

Oliver decided to wade in with his request while Pete seemed receptive. “I might have a solution to your other problem too,” he said.

“My other problem?”

“Your vegetable harvest. There’s a kid…” Oliver shifted his weight. “Look, I’m just going to tell you straight out - there’s a kid who’s been living in your back barn for awhile.”

“What?” Pete asked. “My barn?”

“The abandoned one in the back forty,” Oliver said. “He was living in the house with the meth dealer on Morrisey Road. His mom died, and his dad dumped him there, but he ran away a couple of months ago, and he’s been living in your barn ever since. I spotted him there a few days ago.”

Pete rubbed his hand over his face. “Is he in trouble?” He stopped. “Stupid question, Pete. He’s homeless, and his uncle is that crazy meth dealer. Of course he’s in trouble.”

“He all right for now,” Oliver said. “I helped him clean out the loft in the barn, and we installed an extra lock on the door there. I also got him some camping supplies and groceries. He says he’s moving on, but he’s 14. He has no idea where to move on _to_. He doesn’t want to be found, though, so I’d ask you to leave him be for the immediate future - if you can.”

Pete thought about it for a couple of minutes and then nodded. “Okay. If you think he’s a decent kid. Well, he’s already been on the property for a couple of months, and I haven’t noticed, so he can’t be too much of a real danger or problem.”

“I’d like to give him a job too,” Oliver said. “Here. On your farm. I can pay his wages, but he needs something useful to do, and he needs to feel like he can take care of himself. I think this last year was pretty horrible for him.”

Pete frowned. “My kids,” he said.

“I’m willing to supervise him. It’ll help you out too. The car situation...I think we’re going to need to stay a little longer than I planned. I’ll make it clear to Aaron - that’s his name - that he can’t be with your kids by himself. At least until you’re comfortable with him.”

“You don’t have to pay him,” Pete said. “I can do that. But if you’re willing to work alongside him I can waive your rental fee. After this next weekend we don’t have any guests booked in the house or the cabin. We blocked out the weeks before and after Carrie’s due just in case.”

“That’s smart,” Oliver said.

“Yeah, well,” Pete said, “smarter would have been making sure the batteries in the truck didn't run down and not losing the cellphone.”

“You’re juggling a lot here,” Oliver said. “People have done worse things than let a car battery die. I know I have.”

Pete patted him on the back. “Tell Aaron he can start today. I’ve got plenty for him to do. The entire cucumber patch needs to be hoed desperately. And if you could find that extra phone?”

“I’ll go get it now,” Oliver said. “And thanks for being willing to give him this chance. It’s good of you.”

“Hey,” Pete said with a crooked smile, “if we can’t help each other until we shuffle off this mortal coil, what are we here for?”

 

>>\--->

 

The screen door hadn’t even slammed behind her, and Felicity knew there weren’t any waffles in her immediate future. May, still in pajamas, was sitting at the table holding a rag doll and crying. Ivy looked like she’d been dressed by a tornado with a ruffle fetish, and her hair was stuffed in one messy ponytail on top of her head. She was lifting a heavy skillet onto the stove with both hands. Garnet was standing in the doorway to the stairs looking scared.

There was no breakfast in sight.

“Good morning, girls,” Felicity said. “What’s up?”

Ivy banged the skillet down hard on one of the stove covers. “Oh, you’re here, Mrs. Queen,” she said. “Breakfast is going to be a little late. Sorry. I’m starting it now. May, can you go find me about a dozen eggs?”

May looked at her blankly until Garnet snapped her fingers in front of her face. “Eggs, May,” she said. “Hop to.”

May didn’t let go of her doll, but she got up, grabbed a wire basket, and disappeared out the door. Ivy went to the icebox, and pulled out a couple of pounds of bacon. She carried it over to the kitchen table and went to get a knife and cutting board.

“What’s going on, Garnet?” Felicity asked.

“My mom’s in bed,” Garnet said. “She started bleeding last night. Because of the baby.” She shot a look at her sister. “Just a little, Ivy. Don’t freak out.”

Ivy bit her lip, but she nodded and sat down at the table.

“Shouldn’t she go to the doctor?” Felicity asked.

“She doesn’t have one,” Garnet said. “She has a _midwife_. She’s planning on having this baby at home because she thinks it’s natural and romantic.” She rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing romantic about cleaning the bedding after something like _that_ happens.”

“Who cares about the bedding?” Ivy asked. “This is our baby, and it is natural. People all around the world have babies at home every day, and it’s beautiful.”

“They have them at home because they have inadequate medical care, Ivy,” Garnet said. “Don’t be a doofus.”

“How long does she have to be in bed?” Felicity asked.

“Dad says she’s going to get in bed, and she’s going to stay there until the baby is ready to come out,” Ivy said.

Felicity raised her eyebrows. Full bed rest, then. With three kids, a farm, and a business. “Do you have anyone you might be able to ask to help?”

Garnet shrugged her shoulders.

“Grandma can’t come because she doesn’t remember stuff,” Ivy said, “and Aunt April wrote that she’ll try to come after the baby’s born, but do we have to live in Amish Land? What’s the matter with where we live? I love it here. I never want to leave.” Her chin trembled a little, and Felicity sat down in the chair next to her and put her hand on Ivy’s shoulder. She looked over to Garnet.

“Dad’s parents are dead,” Garnet said, “and Uncle Mike is stationed in Korea. We’re not going to ask Uncle Brian because that wouldn’t be helpful _at all_.”

Ivy giggled a little. “That woman he always brings with him. What’s her name?”

“Who knows?” Garnet said. “She changes it all the time. Last visit it was Desiree. ‘Like the French desire.’” She and Ivy broke out laughing.

Ivy turned to Felicity. “Garnet can’t stand her because she always wants her bedding changed daily, like this is a hotel,” she said.

“We _hand wash_ the bedding,” Garnet said.

“Garnet’s very concerned about the laundry,” Ivy said. “Maybe a little obsessed.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not your responsibility,” Garnet said.

“I help, though!” Ivy put her hand on Felicity’s arm. “She asks for a mint on her pillow too. Can you believe it, a _mint_?” She turned to face the table, smiling, and plunked the slab of bacon on the cutting board.

“Did you sharpen that knife?” Garnet asked.

“It’s sharp enough,” Ivy said.

“You should sharpen it before you cut that,” Garnet said.

Ivy ignored her and began to slice the bacon. “Anyway, we have friends in the neighborhood, but it’s the middle of the summer. It’s not a good time. I’m sure they’ll pitch in when they can.”

“We’re basically on our own,” Garnet said, “but at least we won’t have guests after this weekend.”

“Your mom told me they were coming _this_ weekend,” Felicity said.

Garnet walked over to a large calendar hanging from the wall by the door and ran her finger across the dates. “Nope. They’ll be here Friday. And after that we didn’t take reservations until after the baby’s here and should be settled in.”

“You can stay with us, though, Mrs. Queen,” Ivy said. Her tongue was sticking out of the side of her mouth as she worked hard to cut the meat. “You guys are no work at all. Mr. Queen even helps.” She turned and smiled at Felicity, and that smile was so bright and hopeful that Felicity almost missed seeing the knife slip from the bacon and slash Ivy’s palm.

She caught it out of the corner of her eye, though, and it was like it was happening in slow motion: the slice of the knife, the long red thread forming across the soft skin of Ivy’s hand, and the little girl’s “Oh” of surprise. She reacted instinctively, pulling the girl up and across the room to the sink, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around her hand, elevating it and pressing the wound tightly. Within seconds a splotch of red formed on the towel.

She looked at Garnet. “In the bottom drawer of the dresser in the cabin there’s a large emergency med kit,” she said. “Get it now, and bring it back here. I’ll try to get this to stop bleeding.” Ivy was crying now. Garnet looked at her, nodded once, and ran out of the house.

Still holding Ivy’s hand tightly, Felicity walked them both over to the stairway and called up. “Caroline? Caroline?”

“Is something wrong?” she heard Caroline say.

“We’ve just had a little accident in the kitchen,” Felicity said. “You don’t have to get up, but I need to know if Ivy is allergic to anything? Like latex? Or has she ever had a reaction to local anesthesia or antibiotics? I’m going to have to stitch her up and I intend to use lidocaine. Do you know if that will be a problem?”

She heard a noise from upstairs, a quick scrambling, so she said, as loudly as she could and as calmly as she could, “Mr. Anderson said you needed to stay in bed, so you stay there. I’ve got this, Caroline. I’ve done this a hundred times before.”

“You have medical training? I thought you were in IT.”

“It’s sort of a second vocation, patching people up,” Felicity said. “I got some EMT training a few summers ago because I needed to feel more confident doing stuff like this. It’s hard to explain, but I know what I’m doing.”

“She’s not allergic to anything that I know of,” Caroline said, her voice worried. “Is she okay?”

“She will be,” Felicity said.

Garnet ran in through the door carrying Felicity’s medical kit, and Felicity let out the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. She maneuvered Ivy back over to the sink and carefully unwrapped the towel. The wound was still bleeding, but it was shallower than she’d thought. Thank God.

“We’re going to have to clean this, Ivy,” she said, “and it will hurt a little. I need you to be calm and brave. Garnet, put the med kit on the table. Do you have any rubbing alcohol? Because I’ll need that to clean the wound and sterilize my tools.”

Garnet nodded and ran off in the direction of the bathroom. Felicity pointed to the pump handle and asked Ivy, “This water, it’s safe to use?”

She nodded. “It’s from our well. It’s safe to drink.”

Felicity bundled the towel around Ivy’s hand. “Hold this tightly against yourself. I’ll pump the water.” She worked the handle until the water was flowing, and then she put a basin underneath it. She grabbed a bar of soap, then submersed Ivy’s hand, towel and all, in the water. She carefully peeled back the fabric and began to clean out the cut gently. Ivy gasped and cried a little but kept still.

When Garnet returned with the rubbing alcohol, Felicity put the girl in charge of Ivy. She crossed to the table and opened her med kit, rifling through until she found a syringe, a bottle of lidocaine, tweezers, her needle, and some surgical thread. She poured the rubbing alcohol over a piece of gauze and sponged everything generously. She motioned both girls over to the table.

“Ivy,” she said, “I’m going to use a local anesthetic on your hand so it will be numb when I stitch it up. It’ll be easier on you if you look away. Keep her still, Garnet.” She pulled on some latex gloves and disinfected the cut with rubbing alcohol, then calculated the dosage of lidocaine for a child Ivy’s size. She punched the needle into the lidocaine bottle and slowly pulled the plunger back to the correct measure. She injected it into the girl’s palm in several places alongside the long cut. When that was done, she knotted the thread and went to work, sewing carefully away from herself, using small, neat stitches to close the wound.

Ivy stiffened at first when she saw the needle, but Garnet said, “Look at me, Ivy,” and made a silly face to distract her sister. “The fair is coming up,” she said, “and you’ll be able to show Molly this year. I bet she’ll get a ribbon.”

“Who’s Molly and why would she get a ribbon?” Felicity asked, gently pressing the needle through the layers of Ivy’s skin and pulling the thread tight.

“My sheep,” Ivy said. “We’re going to shear her, and I’m going to use the wool to make a doll blanket for Bedelia. Don’t tell May - it’s for her birthday.” She raised her other hand and put a finger to her mouth.

Felicity bit back a smile. “I won’t. I won’t tell her. So Molly’s your sheep?”

Ivy nodded. “I helped with her birth, even. Dad let me. She’s been mine since she was a tiny lamb.”

“Ivy would let her sleep in her bed, if Mom and Dad would let her,” Garnet said. “Sometimes she sneaks out to the barn to sleep with her. A stinky sheep!”

“She doesn’t stink!” Ivy said. “She smells like the meadow and lanolin.”

“And dirt and sweat. And poop,” Garnet said. Ivy began to sputter in outrage.

Felicity pulled the last stitch through the cut and gave Garnet a grateful look as she tied off a knot. “That’s it,” she said. “Now we just have to wrap it and keep it clean. You were very brave, Ivy. I’ve never had such a brave patient. You wouldn’t believe it, but Oliver is a big baby.”

“Mr. Queen is?” Ivy asked and giggled. “He doesn’t _seem_ like he’d be a baby about stitches. He seems like he’d be really tough.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Felicity said. “It just goes to show: you can’t tell a book by its cover. He’s a big softie inside. Cries at Disney movies, the whole nine yards.” And then she winked at Ivy, or she tried to, at least. She wasn’t as adept as Oliver at winking. Her other eye wouldn’t stay completely open. She was working on it, though.

Ivy got the message. “You’re kidding me,” she said as she watched Felicity wrap her hand in gauze.

“I’m not kidding about the softie part. Inside that gruff exterior, he’s a teddy bear,” Felicity said.

“He doesn’t seem that gruff to me,” Garnet said.

“There you go,” Felicity said, and she leaned over to kiss the top of Ivy’s head.

“You’re nice,” Ivy said. “Thanks for patching me up. It didn’t hurt very much.”

“You’re welcome,” Felicity said, “Go see your mom. I hear her moving around up there, and she shouldn’t be, so go show her you’re okay. Garnet and I will make breakfast.”

“We will?” Garnet asked.

“We will,” Felicity said. “Actually, you will, and I’ll help. Breakfast and I aren’t that familiar with each other.” And with that she started cleaning up the mess at the table while Garnet went to sharpen the knife. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity negotiate, Oliver and Pete negotiate, and Garnet tries to manipulate and fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite - maybe my favorite - things about writing this "fish out of water" Olicity fic is making them do stuff they would never do in Starling City. Like ever. Under no circumstances. Exhibit A: canning.

It rained on and off all weekend, but Monday morning dawned sunny and warm. By mid-morning the girls and Aaron had picked a truckload of beans - literally a truckload. Bushels and bushels of them of all kinds of string beans: green ones, yellow ones, purple ones, and even a flat bean with purple streaks which was apparently named “Dragon’s Tongue.”

“You know what this means,” Garnet said to Felicity when she came in for lunch. There were pieces of bean vines in her French braid, and her legs from the knees down were covered in mud.  

A flicker of apprehension went through Felicity as she plunked down the mismatched china plates on the kitchen table. Caroline had talked her through making grilled cheese sandwiches, and she had been coasting on that victory until now. “What does that mean?” she asked.

“We have to can them,” Garnet said, flinging her head back and pushing the wisps out of her eyes with one hand like a doomed queen riding on the back of a tumbril.

“Can them?” Felicity asked in a low voice.

“There’s too many of them to eat, and they won’t keep in our root cellar for long,” Garnet said. “So yeah. When Dad walks through that door, he’ll be carrying a crate of jars.”

The screen door banged open, and Felicity winced. She swore she was going to weight that door down one of these days. How did Caroline deal with the constant banging noise on top of all the other chaos? She turned around to see Ivy dragging in a small box filled with canning equipment: tongs, a big looking funnel, a jar rack. A memory surfaced, and she shuddered.

“Garnet,” Ivy said, “Dad said to go find both of the canners in the barn before we eat lunch.”

Garnet gave Felicity a look of deep resignation and trudged out of the house. Felicity finished setting the table, and went over the the counter to get the plate of cucumbers and tomatoes she had cut up earlier. “So, canning,” she said to Ivy.

“Yep,” Ivy said. “It’s that time of year. We’re lucky to have so many beans this summer. Last year they got white mold. We pulled everything out and replanted, but we didn’t get all that many to put up. Bad luck.”

“And you’re doing this _today_?”

“No time like the present, huh?” Ivy said. She looked like she was going to say something else, possibly a whole string of chirpy proverbs, but that damned screen door banged again and Oliver walked in carrying a large crate of dusty jars. Pete followed behind with his own crate.

“Is lunch ready?” Pete asked. He set down his crate in the far corner of the kitchen and then reached down to ruffle Ivy’s messy ponytails. “Canning season starts today,” he said.

A voice came from the stairwell, “I don’t think you can do this without me,” Caroline yelled from upstairs. “I really don’t. I should come down to supervise.”

“We can and we will,” Pete said loudly with false cheerfulness. “Don’t even think about getting up.” He turned to Felicity and asked, gesturing the the plates, “Is one of these for her?”

“This one,” Felicity said and gave him the one with best sandwich - no scorch marks on either side and perfectly melted cheese. She’d loaded it up with vegetables and put a small bowl of fresh cherries on it as well.

Pete smiled at her and took it. “You’re an angel,” he said and began climbing the stairs.

Felicity looked at Oliver. “Can I have a word? Outside?” she asked him.

Oliver raised an eyebrow but followed her out the door. When they were about twenty feet away from the house she turned to him said, “Oliver, I don’t can.”

“You don’t can,” Oliver said. “Why? Do you have religious objections? Is this something we should have talked about before…”

“Very funny,” she said. “I hate canning. It’s awful - like the worst-type-of-hell awful.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “Come on, Felicity, how awful can it be?”

“Horrible. Unbelievably hot and sticky. Time consuming. Have _you_ ever canned?”

“I’ve caught a mongoose in a wooden trap I made myself out of sticks and sinew, killed it, skinned it, cooked it over a guttering fire, and eaten it mostly raw.”

She rolled her eyes so hard she thought she’d strained a muscle in one eyeball. “Okay, just don’t with your MacGyver shit right now,” she said. “This is serious. _I_ am serious.”

“You are,” he said, smiling down at her.

“I am.” She looked him straight in the eyes and tried to convey her strength of purpose. Making grilled cheese sandwiches was one thing, canning was something else entirely.

Oliver started to laugh, and she pressed her hand up to his chest. “This is not funny,” she said.

“It kind of is,” he said, his laugh ending on a little snort. “You’re just so whiny about this. ‘I don’t can, Oliver.’” He mimicked her.

“Whiny!” she said.

“Whiny,” he said, nodding firmly. “It’s not like you, so what is the big deal? You helped me take down Slade. This is _boiling water_. We’ll all pitch in and get it done in half a day.”

“First of all,” she said, “it won’t take half a day. It will take _all_ day, even _with_ everyone helping. You don’t know how many steps there are, from the jar washing and sterilizing to the final lid checking and everything in between.”

“And how do you know this? You don’t really seem like the canning type, Felicity.”

There it was, that memory, or, rather, a series of memories - they washed over her then, against her will. Sticky counters, stained pink, and broken jars in scalding hot puddles on old linoleum. And heat. Manufactured humidity in the middle of the desert. She could still feel it. She pulled her collar away from her neck.

“I’m not,” Felicity said. “But every June my mom would take her vacation days, and she’d try to be Ms. Suzy Homemaker that week. To make up for the rest of the year, I guess. So she’d drag me out to pick strawberries in the hot desert sun, and then we’d go back and make jam together. It killed two days of her vacation _every year_ , and she never understood why I wasn’t as excited about it as she was. She came from Indiana originally. My grandparents lived in some town there, sort of a suburb of Indianapolis. Canning strawberry jam in June was kind of like going home for my mom when she couldn’t afford the bus tickets to really do it.”

“That doesn’t sound awful,” Oliver said.

Felicity tilted her head at him. “You’ve met my mother. She wasn’t born to can, Oliver, and neither was I. It always ended in a huge fight, and I swore, after all of those years of making jam in June that I’d grow up and make enough money so I could get my canned goods the natural way - buying them at the farmers market or out of some high priced catalog.”

Oliver crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, if the Andersons don’t get their vegetables canned, they won’t eat this winter,” he said.

“Nice use of guilt there,” Felicity said, narrowing her eyes at him. “I’ll send them a care package full of canned goods.”

“Felicity,” Oliver said.

“What?” She ground her heel into the damp gravel of the driveway and made a sort of windshield wiper pattern in it with her foot.

“This was your idea,” he said.

“My idea? How was this _my idea_?”

“You said you wanted us to help Aaron,” he said.

“And how does my canning help Aaron?” she asked.

“He’s not interacting with anyone,” Oliver said. “He’s working and doing a pretty decent job of it, but he slinks off into a corner as soon as lunch begins and eats alone. Or he takes off as soon as work’s over.”

“So?”

“So we need to encourage him to talk and take part. That many people in the kitchen - he won’t be able to ignore them all.”

She pursed her mouth while she thought about it. It seemed like there might be an easier way to make Aaron socialize. One that didn’t come with so much baggage and sweating.

“If you don’t,” Oliver said, “I may have to take more extreme measures.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “I’ll revoke the “all-access pass,” as you call it.”

“No,” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “No touching, no feeling, and definitely no sex. Think about it.”

“You wouldn’t,” she said. “I don’t think you could.”

“I can, and I will, Felicity,” he said virtuously. “For the children.”

“Oh, give me a break, Oliver. ‘For the children.’” He was ridiculous, he really was. And getting more so every day they were away from Starling. “You couldn’t last two days.”

“Maybe not,” he said, “But, let’s face it, you can’t last two hours without running your hands over my body.”

“I can!” she said.

“I’ve timed you,” he said.

She reached out to run her hands up his chest to placate him, and he backed away from her. See?” he said, “These are the rules. Hands off, woman.”

“Oliver,” she said impatiently.

“It’s just canning, Felicity,” he said. “One day. Like I said, it's for Aaron. You’ll probably grow to love it when it’s in a different setting.”

She blew out her breath. “Okay,” she said, not bothering to keep the childish petulance out of her voice. He was controlling her with sex? Wasn’t that supposed to be her job? Why did he have to be so delicious? It wasn't fair. “But I am not canning over a cast iron stove. I draw the line there. Do you understand the heat retention properties of cast iron? It heats up, and it _stays hot_. Forever. Figure something else out, and I’ll do it.”

“Great,” Oliver bouncing up on the balls of his feet and kissing her on the top of her head.

She wormed her way into his side. His very firm, muscular side. “So I can touch you again?” she asked.

“Mmhmm,” he said. “I didn’t want to play dirty, but you forced my hand.”

She ignored that. “And after we’re done canning, we can go back to our cabin and you’ll do that thing to me again that you did two days ago? The one with the--”

“The oils?”

She nodded.

“I’ll do whatever you want, Felicity,” Oliver said. “You know that.”

“Except exempt me from canning,” Felicity said.

“Except that,” he said, smiling.

“And listen to me when I tell you to stop dealing with Malcolm Merlyn,” she said.

Oliver grimaced. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?” he asked.

“Never is a long, long time, and I hate to make commitments I can’t keep,” Felicity said. “But no.”

Oliver sighed. “Fair enough,” he said.

 

>>\--->

 

“Hey, hey,” Oliver called out as Pete came out of the house and turned in the direction of the barn. Pete turned to look at him and stopped walking.

“This canning thing,” Oliver said, catching up to him. “If you’re going to make this a go, we may have to make a few alterations to the plan.”

“Alterations?” Pete asked, pulling off his OSU cap and wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

“I was thinking,” Oliver said carefully, “the house is already really warm. It’s July, and your wife is upstairs. If you don’t want to roast her _and_ the baby, maybe we should move the canning outdoors.”

Pete frowned at him. “The stove is in the kitchen,” he said. “And there’s no way I could move it outdoors, even with your help. It took four guys to install it, and we had to make alterations to the floor in there so it would hold the weight.”

“What about outdoors? You don’t have any sort of brick barbeque set up around here?”

 “No,” Pete said, “though that’s an idea. It does get really hot in the house in the summer despite the windows and the cross breezes. It would be great to have an alternate set up - like an old-time summer kitchen.”

Oliver straightened his posture and looked at Pete levelly. “I don’t have a problem with your setup, but I really think it would be better if I drove that minivan I rented this morning into town and bought a grill and some propane.”

Pete started to shake his head. “Propane’s not off the grid,” he said. “I mean it is; the way we’d use it, we’d have to buy it and carry it in like coal or wood. It’s not historically accurate, though. Carrie’s not going to go for it.”

“Carrie’s upstairs,” Oliver said. “We could set the grill up out of sight, and after you’re all done using it, you could store it in the barn with your other contraband. Or we could rent one. Maybe you could talk your wife into using it by next summer.”

Pete gave him a rueful smile, and Oliver moved in for the kill.

“That kind of heat has to be a stressor for a pregnant woman,” he said. “I haven’t been upstairs, but it must feel about twice as hot up there as downstairs.”

“It does,” Pete said. “It does. I don’t know, though. We’ve been married for 13 years. There are certain patterns we’ve worked out for our relationship. I’ve never really gone behind her back before on something like this.”

“If she finds out,” Oliver said, trying to inject authority into his voice, “you just have to lay down the law. Be firm. Tell her you did what you did for both the baby and her, and don’t take any flak for it. If you have to, pull rank. She’ll understand.”

“That works for you?” Pete looked unconvinced.

Oliver clapped Pete on the shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. “Absolutely,” he said. “100 percent.”

 

>>\--->

 

Mrs. Queen had instituted what she called “an assembly line system,” and Garnet had to admit that the canning this year seemed more streamlined and efficient. It was still a pain in the neck snipping the ends off of 100 billion green beans, but at least she was sitting across the table from Aaron, so she could watch him out of the corner of her eye while she worked.

Outside her dad and Mr. Queen had put up the large grill she knew instinctively she wasn’t supposed to mention to her mom, and they were already beginning to sterilize the bottles she and Mrs. Queen had washed earlier. Ivy was outside helping. It was her job to put the lids on and take the processed jars out of the wire rack to cool. She couldn’t hold a knife yet with the bandage on her right hand, but she could use her left one fine and balance a jar with her bandaged one.

Next to Aaron, May was chopping beans with all the dexterity of a six-year old and babbling about Bedelia, her doll, what she'd gotten for her birthday, and what she was showing at the county fair. It was the most boring conversation you could possibly imagine listening to - Garnet had heard all of this stuff a million times before - but Aaron didn’t seem to mind. He wasn’t saying much, but he didn’t object when May asked if she could put Bedelia on the bench between them so she could “help.”

So far in the two days that Aaron had been working for them he hadn’t done anything very exciting, but Garnet knew instinctively he had hidden depths. He was practically feral living in that old abandoned barn, a Midwestern Mowgli, and look at all the adventures Mowgli had had: being kidnapped by the Bandar-log, stealing the old cobra’s treasure, and all kinds of other stuff. Garnet shivered a tiny bit in anticipation. This was going to change everything.

“And then I get to model the skirt that I sewed and maybe win a ribbon for that too,” May said. “Do you wanna see the skirt, Aaron? I could get it. It’s just in my room.”

Aaron’s lips - they were a little bit chapped, she noticed - lifted a tiny bit at the corners. “Okay,” he said.

“Not now, May,” Garnet said. “He doesn’t want to see your skirt anyway. He’s a boy. They don’t care about skirts.”

May scowled at her, Aaron’s smile disappeared, and Mrs. Queen laughed, but then tried to cover it as a cough, “I don’t know about that, Garnet,” she said. “In my experience, sometimes boys appreciate a good skirt. And I’d like to see it. After we get the first round of jars into the canner, you run up and get it, May.”

May gave Garnet a triumphant smile. “Mrs. Queen wants to see it,” she said.

Annoyed, Garnet grabbed a bowl and began filling it from the pile of snipped beans in the middle of the table. “So how’s the barn?” she asked Aaron.

“The barn?” May asked. “Why are you asking him about the barn?”

“Because he’s been living there for the past two months - in the abandoned one way back there by the fruit trees.”

Aaron glared at her. “Thanks a lot,” he said.

“You’ve been _living_ there?” May asked him.

“Uh huh,” Aaron said. He picked up a new handful of beans and began carefully lining them up on his cutting board.

“But isn’t it…” she paused and after a minute she looked up at him and said, “lonely?”

Aaron gave her a gentle smile. “Yeah,” he said. “But I have my dog now, Tunie.”

“Ooh, what kind of dog is she?” May asked. “Sometimes Ivy sleeps in our barn too. With her lamb Molly. She sneaks out.”

“She’s a coonhound, but she’s old now and very gentle,” Aaron said.

“Can I meet her sometime?” May asked. “I love dogs. We have a dog, and his name is Felix. Felix!” She shouted his name in the direction of the door.

“Don’t let Felix in the house,” Garnet’s mom called from upstairs. “It think he was out carousing last night. He got into something, and he smells horrible. He can’t come in again until one of you gives him a bath.”

Garnet closed her eyes. Out carousing. Why was her mother so embarrassing? Did she have to talk about Felix’s nightlife? Aaron wouldn’t want to keep hanging around if he discovered how truly weird her parents were. I mean, what kind of mom went and got pregnant again when she was old and already had three kids? Her mom, that’s who.

“Maybe I’ll bring her with me sometime,” Aaron was saying. “She loves kids, and she gets along with other dogs. Does Felix get along with other dogs?”

“Felix loves everyone,” May said. “He’s just a happy dog. Get it? Happy? ‘Cause his name’s _Felix_?” She nudged Aaron in the ribs and giggled.

Garnet put her face into her palm, but when she looked up Aaron was nodding like May hadn’t just made a dorky Latin joke.

At the door Mr. Queen appeared with a batch of wet jars in a  wire rack. “All clean and sterilized,” he said. “You can start filling them.” He pushed open the screen door.

Garnet got up to start sorting them out, and after he’d set the jars down she saw him reach for his back pocket and pull out a newspaper. He motioned for Mrs. Queen to come over, and he put the paper flat on the table so that Aaron and Mrs. Queen could read it.  They all leaned their heads over it, obscuring the wording from her vision, so Garnet circled around the table until she could read the headline upside down. It said:

AFTER SKIRMISH WITH POLICE WANTED DRUG DEALER ON THE LOOSE IN DARKE COUNTY.

She nodded to herself in satisfaction. This Aaron kid, he was going to change _everything_.

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love exploring how Oliver and Felicity act around each other now that the question of how they feel and whether they're committed has been decided. Because, let's face it, we all maneuver about to get our way, and the one "in charge" isn't always the one in charge. There are always chinks in the armor, so to speak. I actually don't think Oliver wants to be in charge of their relationship, I believe he's fully on board with leaving that to Felicity, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to get his way. I liked paralleling the scene of Oliver working on Felicity and then Oliver working on Pete because of the conditions Felicity put on her agreement to his plan. 
> 
> I sort of felt bad for Pete, to be honest. He's one man in a house of four females, and I think Caroline's worked him into a corner in terms of honoring the commitments he's made to the people and things he values most. Perhaps he needs to be coaxed out of that place. People are fun. :O 
> 
> (Thanks again to [lerayon](http://lerayon.tumblr.com/) for asking me a question and making me think this through.)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Oliver, Felicity, and Pete try to decide what to do, Aaron remembers his life in the meth house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only chapter that is going to have anything potentially triggering for anyone - so skip it if you don't want to read about sexual abuse or implied physical abuse. There's nothing gratuitous here, but Aaron has had some very difficult experiences. He wouldn't be living by himself at age 14 in an abandoned barn if things had worked out better for him. I felt I owed it to him (and the reader) to explore this so that the story's resolution would feel reasonable and authentic.

Oliver saw the moment Aaron understood what had happened because he stiffened in his chair and his hand began to shake so hard he dropped the knife he was holding. Oliver looked at Felicity and saw she was watching Aaron as well.

“We have to talk about this,” Oliver said to the boy, “but it doesn’t have to be now.”

“Talk about what?” Pete asked as he came through the door with more sterilized canning jars.

Oliver pressed his lips together. Aaron’s eyes were fixed to the table, and he was rocking back and forth a little in his chair. Garnet was staring at him in fascination, and May looked a little frightened. He gave Felicity a meaningful look, jerking his head toward the stairs. She nodded.

“Girls,” she said, “lets run up and see if your mother needs anything. I haven’t heard her call down in a while.”

“What?” Garnet said, dragging her attention away from Aaron. “No. She’s fine. She’s probably just napping.”

“Let’s check,” Felicity said. “May, would you get her a glass of water? She’s probably already drunk the one you took up this morning.”

May went over to the sink and began cranking the handle to the water pump. Garnet set her mouth in a firm line. “May can check on her. I’ll be more useful here.”

“Garnet,” Felicity said, “We’re going upstairs.” She put her hand on the girls shoulder and tugged her in the direction of the stairway. May looked mutinous as she glanced from face to face of those in the room, but eventually her shoulders sagged, and she obliged.

Pete had his hands flat on the table and was leaning over the newspaper. His eyebrows raised. “Is this Niemands guy going to be a problem?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Oliver said. “Aaron?” He put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, and Aaron startled and shoved it off in one movement. Oliver took a careful step back and then pulled May’s chair further out, sitting down.

“I can see that this is upsetting you,” he said in a low, calm voice, “but Pete and I need to know if you think you’re in any kind of real danger.”

Aaron looked up at him and then over at Pete. He narrowed his eyes. “You mean, you need to know if _you’re_ in any kind of real danger,” he said.

“No,” Oliver said. “I can handle myself with this guy, and I suspect Pete can as well.” He looked over to the other man who nodded firmly. “We’re not on his radar. But you probably are.”

“He’ll come here because of me, and then you guys won’t be safe,” Aaron said. “I’ve been in danger from him for almost a year, but this is the first time anyone’s given a fuck about it.” He looked defiantly from Oliver to Pete.

“What exactly did Niemands do to you?” Pete asked, his voice rising in anger.

Aaron’s face went blank. “Nothing,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about it. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.” His pushed his chair back from the table.

Pete bit his lip and rubbed the palm of his hand against his jeans. “I don’t want you to leave, Aaron,” he said. “I’m just not sure what we should do right now to keep you and everyone else safe from your uncle.”

“Can we get back to canning?” Aaron asked, stilling. “That’s what you’re paying me to do, and you said it was important. Garnet over there looks like she could use something to do.” He gestured to the girl who had snuck back down the stairs and was lurking in the doorway.

“Okay,” Pete said slowly. He shot Oliver a look, and Oliver knew they’d pick this up later. He’d have to ask Pete about what he had in terms of defense or if he was comfortable with guns or other weapons. He was already mapping his midnight patrol route in his mind and calculating where it would be safest to put Aaron for now. Felicity could hack the police communication system and see what kind of threat Niemands had posed last night too.

Still, he wasn’t worried about Niemands as much as he was about Aaron now. Because he’d seen that angry, self-loathing look in the boys eyes before: when he’d looked at himself in the mirror after Lian Yu.

 

>>\--->

 

From the moment Oliver had slapped the newspaper down in front of him on the table to the time, hours later, when they’d finally pulled the very last jar out of the canner and put it on the picnic table to cool, Aaron’s mind had been screaming, “Get out of here!” He had managed to keep it together pretty well, he thought, but as soon as the work was done, he wolfed down the bowl of soup Garnet had ladled out for him, grabbed a stray cucumber and a hunk of bread from the cutting board, and and took off.

Aaron walked quickly past the barn and the garden, and then broke into a run when he reached the stream. When he got to the woods, he stopped to catch his breath for a second, then whistled loudly for Tunie. After a minute he heard a light pounding in the distance and saw her lumbering down the footpath that paralleled the stand of trees. In spite of his frayed state of mind, he smiled. His dog ran like a cow.

Tunie reached him, wagging her tail so fast it was a blur. She gave him an open-mouthed gaze of pure doggy adoration, and he reached down and rubbed her behind the ears. She craned her neck, moving his hand down around to where she liked being scratched the most. He knelt on the ground, and slipped his arms around her, so grateful for her. She was the only thing he had left of his old life, the only good thing at all.

After a minute Aaron stood and jerked his head in the direction of the woods. He and Tunie moved in tandem towards the small footpath. It was familiar ground for Aaron; he’d walked it many times in the past months.

Most of these trees were maples. This was an old sugar stand. In a certain section, if he looked carefully, he could see the scars on the trees from where they’d been systematically tapped years ago. Nature had crept in since then, and there were oaks, elms, and even a few dying ash trees. The forest was diversifying itself. Aaron liked that. People could only control so much.

He and Tunie walked up a gradual incline and then a steeper hill until he reached the spot he was seeking. It overlooked the stream here in a section that was naturally narrow and so clogged with fallen brush it was almost dammed. A pool had formed, and Aaron liked to watch it. When he was really quiet, animals would come to drink, play, and fish. Now that he had Tunie with him, this rarely happened. She was a loud dog, and she lived to track. But he’d much rather sit next to her and run his hands over her soft ears than see squirrels play.

Aaron laid back on the mossy ground of the outcropping. He liked to imagine that this hill was one of those Adena mounds like he’d gone to visit on a school field trip - the result of decades of a people’s work, memory, and grief. That he was lying on the bones of the long ago Adena warriors who’d lived and worked this part of Ohio centuries ago. But probably not. He knew it was just a hill. Life wasn’t often what you imagined it would be, and it wasn’t a good idea to be romantic about it.

He was tired from the heat and the canning, but that was good. He liked working because it turned his brain off, at least while he was busy. If he could just work 12 hours a day, spend a couple of hours sitting here watching the stream and petting his dog, he thought maybe he could stand it. He could learn to stand it. He could push through until whatever was going to happen next happened. He had a job now, a place to live, and enough to eat. It’s all the Adena had had, probably, and they’d survived and built gigantic earthworks even.

Tunie stopped sniffing at the tree she’d been stalking and came to lay down next to him, snuggling into his side. He turned to curl up around her and gently placed his lips against the smooth patch of fur on the top of her head. He closed his eyes, breathed in her comforting doggy scent, and fell asleep.

 

>>\--->

 

The house smelled funny; it always did. It was late fall and cold out, but Aaron kept his window open all the time to make sure he wasn’t breathing in too many meth chemicals. The geniuses downstairs were really brewing it up tonight, so he moved his chair closer to the source of fresh air.

He heard the argument start up downstairs as he thumbed through his school notebook, but he didn’t pay a lot of attention to that these days. Jessie was always trying to start something up with Uncle Greg. Her voice got louder and shriller, though, as she got more and more pissed off, and it became difficult to concentrate on the different types of landforms that would be on tomorrow’s geography quiz.

“You never pay any attention to me!” she yelled. “It’s Sunday night, and you’re sitting here with your loser friends cooking meth and watching the game? You should be taking me out! We didn’t do anything all weekend.”

“I gotta work, Jess.” Uncle Greg said. “What do you think pays the bills around here?”

“I don’t know,” Jessie said. “You say you make so much money, but we never go anywhere, and you never get me anything. I could get myself nothing and go nowhere just as easy without you. And I sure as hell would pick a nicer place to live.”

“You think you can do better?” he asked. “You just try. Look around this room. You’re taller than all of the guys here but me. Any of you want her?”

For a second there was silence, and then he said, “See? Do you think most dudes are up for mounting an animal of your size? You got a nice rack, hon, but no one wants to bump his face in it every time he sticks his dick in.”

“You take that back, Greg! You goddamn take that back, or I swear I’ll walk out! I’ll do it this time!” Aaron heard something crash against the wall downstairs.

“I’m not taking it back, and _you’ll_ take what you can get like you have been or you’ll get the hell out. Now get out of here and leave us men in peace,” Uncle Greg said.

“You’ll see,” Jessie screamed, “There’s all kinds of guys who’d appreciate me better than you. I’ll get myself one.”

“You do that, bitch,” Uncle Greg said. “I could use the rest.”

Aaron winced. He heard a door slam and then fast steps and crying on the stairs. He felt bad for Jessie in a way, but, come on, his uncle was a monster. If she dumped him, she’d be happier, and Uncle Greg would suffer at least some inconvenience, so win-win. Of course, an unhappy Uncle Greg wasn’t good news for him, but any kind of Uncle Greg was bad news. He went back to his homework. He had to memorize the definitions of at least 30 landforms before he went to bed.

After about an hour of studying, Aaron gave up on the vocabulary list, sloughed off his clothes, and threw on an old pair of Star Wars flannel pajama pants. Then he cranked up the space heater, turned off his light, and slipped under the old gray comforter. He was lying there in the dark mentally calculating whether school with its social horrors was better or worse than Uncle Greg’s Crack Emporium, when he heard the door knob quietly turn. The light filtering up from the bottom of the stairs shone through the cracks in the space between the door and the frame as it slowly opened inward.

He closed his eyes and lay as still as he possibly could, pretending to sleep, as he heard whoever it was close the door again and softly walk over to the bed. “Aaron,” Jessie said in a whisper. “It’s Jessie.” She touch his shoulder and shook it gently.

“Jessie? What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice cracking. It did that a lot these days, even when he wasn’t nervous.

“Shh,” she said, and he felt her sit down on the bed and then stretch herself out beside him. “I thought I’d keep you company.”

“I’m okay,” Aaron said. “But I’ve got to get some sleep now because, you know, school.”

Jessie’s weight shifted as she leaned towards him, and her hands moved underneath the comforter to touch his stomach. “Don’t worry about school,” she said. “I’ve got something else to teach you. Something you’ll like.”

Her hands were warm, but Aaron pulled away from her instinctively. “I want to go to sleep,” he said in as firm a voice as he could. The door was closed, but he could still hear the group downstairs pretty clearly, and he had a good idea what Uncle Greg would do to him if he found Jessie in here. His tongue moved to find the space in the back of his mouth where his molar had been before last month.

Jessie curled her body into his and slowly stroked her way down his abdomen. “Shh,” she said again. “I’m doing you a favor. You’ll be better with the girls your own age this way someday. I’ll make it good for you. I promise.”

“No,” he said as she put her mouth on his shoulder and kissed him lightly there. He stiffened. “Please.”

“I know what guys like,” she said as she moved her hand to touch him between his legs. The blood rushed to Aaron’s head. It beat so hard at his temples that he thought the veins there might burst. He clamped his eyes shut and willed his body not to respond. Jessie had driven him to school. She’d made him peanut butter sandwiches, and she’d helped him with his homework. She was the only adult who’d been sorta nice to him since he’d gotten here. And now she was touching his penis.

“See?” she said, “you like it. I knew it. All guys do. Now here, relax. I’ll do all the work this time.”

“This time?” he said, his voice rising as his mother’s personal boundaries talk popped into his head. He bit his lip to keep himself from either laughing hysterically or screaming. She’d said it a bunch of times, so he had it memorized: “ _Remember what I told you: no one is allowed to look at or touch your private parts except for the doctor and me - and only with your permission, and only if there’s something wrong. Got it, Aaron?_ ”

He’d gotten it all right, but what was he supposed to do about any of that _now_ with Jessie here pawing him and Uncle Greg, his shotgun, and his gang of tweakers downstairs?

Oh, Mom, he thought, there’s something wrong. There’s something _really_ wrong. Why aren’t you here? Why aren’t you here when I need you _so much_?

 

>>\--->

 

Aaron gasped as he woke to a hand on his shoulder. He backed away on his hands and knees blinking, but it was only May who was looking at him in a startled way, her small mouth forming an O.

“Did I scare you?” she asked. “I didn’t mean to. You were dreaming. And moaning a little bit.” She smiled at him and raised a bag in her right hand. “I brought you some cookies. You left so quickly, you didn’t get dessert. That’s the best part.”

Aaron forced his breathing to slow. In and out, in and out, breathe and calm calm calm the fuck down. Kindergarteners weren’t scary. Little girls with messy braids - he could handle them. Right?

“May,” he said when he felt his voice would sound normal. “What are you doing here?”

“I just told you,” she said and shook the bag. “Cookies, remember? Do you like oatmeal raisin? They’re not as good as snickerdoodles, but they’re still good. Ivy made them, and she didn’t burn _any_.” May pulled one out of the bag and handed it to him. “Try one.”

Aaron took it gingerly from her and tried it. It was good. Sweet and kind of crunchy. His mom used to make oatmeal raisin cookies, but this one tasted better than he remembered them being before.

“See?” May said. “The best part is dessert.” She scooched closer to him, dimpling, and Aaron forced himself not to back away.

“How did you find me?” he asked.

“Your dog,” May said. “I figured you were probably with your dog, and she’s got a howl made for finding. That’s what coonhounds do, right? They track a raccoon and trap it in a tree, then they sing for you, and you come and get it.”

“Tunie will track just about anything, not just raccoons,” he said, “but yeah. That’s how it works.”

“Her name is Tunie? Oh, I like that,” May said. “A song name. Tunie, Toooonie. Tunie-tunes.” The dog sidled up to her and licked her on the face. May giggled. “Pretty girl,” she said.

“It’s Petunia,” Aaron said, “but we had her since I was little, and I couldn’t say that as easily.”

“Tunie’s better,” May said.

He nodded and bit back a smile. It was time to straighten something out. “You shouldn’t be here, May,” he said with some firmness.

“Why not?” May asked.

“Because your dad doesn’t want you to be alone with me.” Aaron personally thought that was a wise choice. The number of people he trusted now could be counted on his closed fist, and he didn’t belong with innocent little girls. Not anymore.

Her face clouded, and then brightened again. “But I’m not alone with you - because we’re together.” She patted the dog on the head which earned her another sloppy lick. “And your Tunie’s here too.”

That seemed a lot like 5-year-old logic he wasn’t going to be able to argue with, so he got to his feet instead. “Come on,” he said, “I’ll walk you back.”

“Okay,” May said, and before he could stop her, she slipped her hand in his. “Want another cookie?” she asked.

Aaron looked down at her shining face, and, rather unexpectedly, he found that he did.

 

>>\--->

 

The adults were standing around in a circle in the driveway, talking, when Aaron and May reached the house. He could hear them arguing well before that.

“I don’t care what his reasons are,” Mr. Anderson said, “He’s not staying in that old barn anymore.”

Aaron felt his heart begin to beat faster, and he felt his throat start to close up.

“I don’t like it either,” Felicity said. Oliver just looked kind of broody and menacing, but Aaron knew by now this was his factory setting, so it didn’t tell him much.  

“Niemands is a threat,” he finally said. “There’s no getting around it. And you've got three girls and a pregnant lady here.”

So they were kicking him out, then. Aaron let go of May’s hand. He had known this was coming, but he’d hoped he could at least stay in the barn. It was kind of nice now that it was clean and he’d retrieved some more of his pictures and clothes and stuff from the house.

“I knew his mother from 4-H,” Mr. Anderson said. “Not that well, but she was nice. And I’m not having her son live homeless in my old barn. Not with his uncle stalking about. He’s a kid. He needs protection. He needs to be cared for.”

“I agree,” Oliver said, “but I’m not sure he’ll stay with you or anyone else. He doesn’t like to be crowded. He gets nervous. You should give him a choice.”

Aaron stopped walking, confused. They weren’t talking about booting him, and after months of no one giving a shit about him, everyone suddenly wanted to help?

“Tell him he can stay in the house with you, in the cabin with us, or in the big barn with the animals. In any of those places we can keep him safe from Neimands,” Oliver said.

“I don’t like the barn option very well,” Mr. Anderson said. “He’s not an animal. He’s a child.”

“He likes living in the old barn, though,” Oliver said. “He’s comfortable. Maybe it would be an easier transition to go from that to a place in this one.” He turned and looked directly at Aaron across the driveway. “What do you think, Aaron?” he asked.

“I’m okay where I am,” Aaron said, recovering, “but if that’s not an option, yeah, I want to stay in the big barn. Can I keep my dog with me?”

The three adults relaxed, and Mr. Anderson even smiled. “Sure, son,” he said. “You can keep your dog. We’ve got to move some things around, but we’ll get it sorted out. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay in the house? Or the cabin with them?” He gestured to Oliver and Felicity.

“I’m sure,” Aaron said.

“Go get your stuff, then,” Mr. Anderson said. “And we’ll settle you in before it gets dark.” 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day arrives at last - the one week mark!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last week's chapter was very heavy, and this one is all LIGHT. It was going to be more scenes, but everyone kept talking. Also, it's Labor Day weekend.

The first rays of morning sun were slowly illuminating the interior of their bedroom when Felicity reached out and ran a finger down the ridge of his nose. “This is the tiniest bit crooked,” she said, and then, in a more excited voice, “Guess what today is.”

Oliver pressed his eyes closed and thought. Yesterday was Monday, so: “Tuesday?”

Felicity pulled herself up on one elbow. “Yeah, Tuesday. But why is _this_ day different from all other days?” She chortled to herself in an I’m-so-clever way. “You know, right?”

He really didn’t. A better question was why was she up so early? It was _really_ early. Had she ever been up this early before? She didn’t celebrate Christmas, so it was quite possible she never had. It dawned on him about the same time she pulled his bottom lip down with her finger and then began poking the mole underneath. He opened his eyes to find her staring at his mouth.

“It’s been a week,” he said, grabbing her finger before she could stick it in his ear or something.

“Yes!” she said, in a triumphant voice. “A whole week. Seven days. And now that it is the morning of the eighth day, I can gather my children back in from their exile and captivity. And there shall be singing and rejoicing.” She rolled away from him suddenly and towards her side of the bed. He caught her by the waist and pulled her back against him.

“Not so fast,” Oliver said. “It won’t be a whole week until...What time did we check in?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Felicity said. “It’s Tuesday. There have been promises made. Our deal is _done_. I considered digging my tablet out at 12 midnight, but you had me otherwise engaged, and I thought it would be rude to interrupt what you were doing.”

“Rude?” he said and grinned. She was so cheeky.

‘Well, you were trying so hard.”

“Trying?” He had a series of very enjoyable mental images of the muscles in her lower back clenching as some of her more internal muscles simultaneously bore down on him. There was an audio track to this too he was unlikely to forget soon. She could be very vocal in bed, but it wasn’t the noises she made that he loved so much. She had a semi-operational filter on her mouth in general, but when he knocked it loose during sex he got to hear wonderful, ego-stroking things. Things like:

“Oh my god, just...a little bit slower. Give a girl a chance to stretch. You feel like a battering ram...Oh, oh...oooh yeahh. Mmhmm.”

“I can’t believe how incredible your body feels. Your ass is so sexy. Do you have to do a specific exercise to make your ass so sexy? If you do, keep doing it. That needs to be in your Tuesday _and_ your Friday routine.”

And the best one: “Love you, love you, _love_ you so much, Oliver. How can I love you this much? How?”

Felicity was wiggling and looking at him expectantly, and Oliver realized he’d zoned out a bit.

“After that I guess I fell asleep,” she said.

“I guess you did,” he said, tracing a finger down her side. “After I put the sheets you clawed off back on the bed and tidied you up a bit. You perked up when I put you back under the covers, but you didn’t mention anything about your laptop.”

Yes, well,” Felicity said turning ever so slightly pink, “no time like the present.” She tried to squirm her way out of his arms, but he tightened them against her.

“Hold up,” he said. “You’re doing so well - I thought we’d try for double or nothing.”

The look she threw over her shoulder was filled with disbelief. “Double of what? What did I get for going cold turkey on my tech for the last week?”

“Quality time spent with your boyfriend? More great sex than usual?”

“Oh, please,” she said. “I’ve seen you all day every day for the past two and a half months, and it’s not like my laptop has ever stopped you from initiating sex.”

“Fair enough,” he said, relaxing a bit. “It’s been nice, though, having your undivided attention. All of those hours we talked instead of you typing. You didn’t like that part?”

Felicity’s posture softened in his arms, and she twisted her way around to look him in the eyes.  “I did like it, Oliver,” she said in her gentlest voice, kissing him softly on the mouth. Then, in one swift movement, she scrambled off the bad and away from it and him. “I want my tablet, though, and I _need_ to check my phone. It’s been a week. That’s long enough to prove anything. Outside of complete grid failure or an electromagnetic pulse attack, I can’t imagine going through that again. Certainly not willingly.”

She crossed the room and opened the closet and then kneeled down to rummage about, pulling out her black bag. “I know our separation has seemed cruel, my children,” she said and dug out her cell phone, her tablet, and her laptop and carefully placed them in a line before her. “But now we can begin anew.” She hit the on button on her phone with joy and expectation. Her face fell abruptly.

“I forgot we have terrible reception out here,” she said.

She tried to turn on her tablet, but it was drained. “No good deed goes unpunished,” she said with a sigh. She got up and started rummaging about through the drawers.

“What are you doing?” Oliver asked.

“I’m getting dressed,” she said. “I’m going to find a lovely little spot with a continuous supply of electricity and good cell reception, and I’m going to go through all my calls. Probably the library.” She waved a hand at her tech. “I’ll bring all of these neglected babies and give them their juice too.”

“Felicity,” Oliver said, watching her shimmy out of her orange sleep shorts and the tank top with popsicles all over it.

“ _What_ , Oliver? I don’t mean to be crabby, but you’re interrupting a reunion here.”

He gave her a patient smile. “It’s 5:15,” he said. “The library won’t be open for hours. Nothing’s going to be open around here but Denny’s, and after what happened last time between you and Ethel, I’m not sure she’ll let you in.”  

Felicity narrowed her eyes at him and she put her arm in the sleeve of her “Pepper Potts for President” t-shirt. “I don’t want to go over that again. I just told her to keep her mitts off. She thinks she’s old so she can get away with fondling you.”

He laughed. “She wasn’t fondling me,” he said, “And I heard your explanation before. It doesn’t change the fact that it puts you at a disadvantage now that she could be useful to you.”

“So what am I supposed to do now?” she asked.

“Come back to bed?”

“You wish,” she said and yanked on a pair of khaki shorts. She grabbed her phone, her tablet, and its charger off the floor. “I’m going for a walk. There’s another house about a mile away from here. If they’ve got security on their wifi, I’ll take it down. Desperate times.”

“Want company?” he asked.

She shot him a look that was an unequivocal no. “You do your exercise things,” she said, opening the door. “Help Pete plant a field or something. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

She blew him a kiss, and then she was gone.

 

>>\--->

 

A few hours later Felicity walked up to the farmhouse hauling her black bag of technology. She’d done a quick run through of her phone messages and a brief check of her email. Nothing urgent was afoot, but there were some alerts related to Starling that had been triggered in her city monitoring program, Thea had a question for her about Nanda Parbat, and there was the situation with Aaron. Bare minimum, she needed four uninterrupted hours with her laptop when she was not standing in a field on the edge of someone’s property trying to look unobtrusive and not at all stalkerish.

She approached the minivan from the far side, opened the hatchback door with the key, placed her bag carefully in the storage compartment, and very quietly closed the door again.

“Where are you going?” Garnet said behind her, and Felicity jumped at the sound of her voice.

“The library,” Felicity said, hand to her throat. “I...I can use my tech now. It’s been a week, and I won the bet with Mr. Queen. I have to hit a wifi spot and recharge everything, and then I can see what’s going on with Aaron’s uncle.” She looked around the yard and saw that Aaron and Ivy were there too, standing in the driveway, the latter holding a leash with a sheep at the end of it. Ivy was talking excitedly to Aaron, making sweeping gestures with her hands and causing the ponytail at the very top of her head to bob wildly. The sheep looked unimpressed.  

“What’s with the sheep?” Felicity called to Ivy as she walked over.

“Molly? I’m practicing showing her like I’m going to next week at the fair,” Ivy said. “This is my first year as a Junior, and I can compete now that I’m nine. Isn’t she pretty? Molly’s going to win a ribbon.”

“What did I tell you about getting your hopes up?” Garnet asked. “There are going to be a lot of sheep at the fair.”

“Not like Molly,” Ivy said. “Do you want to pet her, Aaron?” She pulled on Molly’s leash, and the sheep lunged forward. Aaron, to his credit, did not step back.  

“Aren’t you a nice girl,” he said bending down to pat her on the head, and Ivy beamed.

Then the porch door slammed, and they all looked up to see May run out of the house wearing a shiny blue floor length skirt. She did a series of little skips and then stopped in front of Aaron, swishing the satin fabric around legs with her hands. “This is the skirt I made in Explorers,” she said. “It’s just like _Elsa’s_.”

Aaron raised his eyebrows. “Very pretty,” he said. “Wasn’t it hard to sew?”

“Nope,” May said, twirling. “We got a simple pattern, and Ivy helped me with the fasteners. We didn’t put in a zipper, just some hooks and eyes.”

Ivy smiled at her sister. “We had to make a few adjustments, but we got there, didn’t we, May?”

May nodded enthusiastically. “We’re gonna sew the bodice next. That’s a little trickier,” she said. “But it’s got sequins. I can’t compete since I’m a Cloverbud, but I can display and model the skirt at the fair.” She lifted her hand up over her head and did a sort of modified royalty wave.

Garnet rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything.

“What are _you_ doing at the fair?” Felicity asked her.

“Showing my horse, Cordelia,” Garnet said. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“She’s getting nervous,” May said.

“She might chicken out,” Ivy said.

“I’m not chickening out, but I don’t want to talk about it,” Garnet said.

“Cordelia’s temperamental, and Garnet hasn’t exercised her enough,” May said. “Sometimes she messes up her jumps.”

“Some of the other girls in 4-H are really into horses,” Ivy said. “They have their own super expensive gear, and take lessons all year ‘round. And they wear makeup and they have...” Ivy made a generous motion in front of her chest.

Aaron gave an interested look at this revelation. “They have…” he said.

“Shut up, Ivy,” Garnet said. She turned abruptly to Felicity. “Hey, could you take me to the library with you? I’ve read most of the books I checked out last week.”

“The library!” Ivy said. “We didn’t get to go to the library last week. Can we come with you? Please?”

Felicity was suddenly certain her morning was not going to be nearly as productive as she’d hoped it would be. Three pairs of eyes were looking at her hopefully. “All right,” she said with a sigh. “Do you want to come, May? Aaron?”

Aaron looked surprised to be asked, but May piped up with a “Yes!” Then she brushed her hands lovingly down her thighs. “Garnet, do you think I could…”

“You can’t wear the skirt, May,” Garnet said. “You have to keep it nice for next week.”

“Oh, okay,” May said. “I guess.”

Pete walked up the path from the barn. “You all going somewhere?” he asked.

“To the library, Daddy,” Ivy said, giving him a quick hug. “Mrs. Queen’s taking us.”

“Okay,” he said and gave Felicity a quick smile. “Try not to crash any cars this time.” He turned to Aaron. “We’ve got to move some bales in the barn. Can you come and help us real quick before you all take off for the library?”

Aaron’s eyes widened. and the fingers of one hand came up to his chest, but then he nodded firmly and said, “Sure thing, Mr. Anderson.” Pete nodded at all all of them before they walked back towards the barn. All three girls watched as they walked away, and then they gave each other a look.

“You all seem a bit fascinated with Aaron,” Felicity said.

“We’re wondering when the hitting is going to start,” May said.

“Hitting?” Felicity asked, confused and slightly uneasy. Were they worried about their safety now that Aaron was living in the big barn?

“Yeah, you know,” Ivy said. “Whenever you go anywhere where there are a lot of boys - like the fair or a big homeschooling meeting - there’s always a bunch of hitting,” She kind of fake sauntered and then stuck out her fist and socked the air.

“And spitting,” May said. “Lots of spitting. It’s gross.”

“It is,” Ivy said. “Why would you want to spit _on the ground_?” All three girls made the same face, wrinkling their noses, and looked at Felicity.

“This has been mainly a girl house up until now,” Garnet said, “I mean, Dad’s not a girl, but he’s our _dad_ , and he never hits anyone.”

“Or spits,” May said.

“Or spits,” Garnet said. “So does there have to be a certain number of men --”

“Or boys,” Ivy said. “Lots of times it’s boys.”

Garnet sighed. “-- men or _boys_ there before they start hitting each other?” She gave May a long-suffering look. “Don’t say it, May.”

May clamped her lips shut and covered her mouth with her hand, but then a giggle slipped out. “Or spitting?”

Ivy laughed too, and Garnet shot her a look.

“Oh, get off it, Garnet,” Ivy said and nudged her older sister with her shoulder. “You think the spitting is gross too. It’s not just me and May.”

“May _and I_ ,” Garnet said.

Ivy glared at her sister. “We’re not orphans,” she said. “Stop trying to keep us in line with grammar and the rest of it.”

Garnet sighed again, deeper this time, the sigh of the deeply unappreciated. Felicity recognized this sigh all too well.

“So when is it?” May asked Felicity.

“When is what?”

“The point when they start hitting each other. There’s three of them now: Dad, Mr. Queen, and Aaron. That’s enough, right?”

Felicity patted May’s shoulder sympathetically. “It’s enough,” she said. “In my experience, two is enough, and sometimes they sweat and bang things around even when they’re alone. Who knows why?”

“Boys,” Ivy said, frowning. “Why do girls like them?”

“There are a few perks,” Felicity said. “You’ll understand better when you’re older. Now get your stuff together if you want to go to the library. Daylight’s burning here, and I’ve got tech stuff to do. ”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron meets someone from his old school, Garnet asks questions, and Felicity hacks the police database for some answers.

The library was quiet for once when they arrived, and Garnet remembered why she loved being there so much. The shelves were filled with so many things to learn, so many people's stories to read. It was a place filled with potentialities, ways to feel and be different. Garnet lugged her heavy book bag over to the circulation desk and began emptying its contents.

Ivy said, "Come on, let's see if they've got any Frog and Toad books in the easy readers this week."

"Frog and Toad are my favorite," May said. "They're such good friends."

"They are. My favorite was always Little Bear, though," Ivy said.

"It's the kissing, isn't it?” May puckered her lips at her sister. “The pictures are nice too."

"Little Bear is just so sweet," Ivy said. “I like how all the animals help him out."

“And when the skunks start kissing, it’s so cute,” May said, then she took Ivy's hand and steered them both in the direction of the children's section.

Aaron meanwhile had made himself scarce. Garnet scanned the lobby, squinting a little at the sunlight reflecting off the marble floor. When they'd renovated the library, they'd installed a huge skylight over the circulation desk. She didn't entirely approve. She felt it was unlikely that the Library at Alexandria or any of the medieval monastic libraries had had skylights. It was brighter in here now, but it didn't seem as mysterious.

Oh, there he was. Aaron was just outside of the little Friends of the Library bookstore digging through a box of books. His long brown hair dangled down over his eyes, and she watched him shove it back again and again as he searched.

"Garnet, I'm going to go plug in my laptop and tablet now," Mrs. Queen said. "I've got some stuff I have to get through. You'll be okay?"

"Sure, Mrs. Queen," Garnet said, stuffing the last of her books into the slot. She looked back over at the bookstore, but Aaron was gone. "I'll find something to do. No problem."

 

>>\--->

 

Aaron sifted through the free box to see if there was anything worth taking. Probably not, but you never knew. He set aside a battered copy of **Campfire Cooking** and three Louis L'Amour books. His grandpa had had a whole shelf of westerns in his house before he'd died. Aaron had never seen him read them, but they'd already been there in that corner of the living room just below Grandma's glass frog collection. L'Amour. Aaron frowned. He'd taken French last year in school. "Love" couldn't be that guy’s real name. Who wrote a whole slew of cowboy and Indian novels and named himself that?

He grabbed his books from the floor and headed over to the graphic novel section. He and his mother had come to the library all of the time when he was little, and last year before she'd gotten sick, he'd plowed through a bunch of comic book series when she'd pushed him to read more. Batman, Watchmen, and his favorite, The Walking Dead. He thought about his English teacher, Mrs. Van Eerden, and how she was obsessed with differentiating between heroes and protagonists. He knew she'd call Rick Grimes a protagonist and not a hero, but Aaron thought the fact that Rick was still alive and kicking in the zombie apocalypse years after everything went to shit, still trying to keep his family safe (with only one hand!), was pretty damn heroic.

Aaron was tired of considering character motivation for everything too. Mrs. Van Eerden had been big on nuance and was always praising characters who were "multi-dimensional," but sometimes bad people did what they did because they were selfish assholes and that was all there was to it. Maybe that's why his grandpa had liked westerns and why he liked Rick Grimes. Shooting people in the face as a solution could be satisfying sometimes.

Aaron ran his finger across the author's last names on the graphic novels. B, D, F, K - Kirkman. That was his name. Here they were. He couldn't remember what volume he'd left off reading, but they had volumes 16, 17, 18, and 19 on the shelf as well as the second compendium. He pulled all of these out and went to find a seat in some far off corner. The young adult section had a good reading nook, and it was mercifully empty today. He settled in an armchair and opened the huge compendium to its first page, ready to see some zombies bite it at the end of Rick’s revolver.

 

>>\--->

 

Garnet peeked around the corner and saw Aaron reading a book with a bunch of creepy dead people in various states of decomposition on the cover. Yuck. Why were boys so into gross stuff? And why was Aaron just sitting there reading comic books? Didn't he have better, more exciting things to do?

Walking past the children's section, she could hear May sounding words out as she read them aloud. "‘It is from his...grandmother. Take it to him like a good little skunk.’" May giggled. “Get ready, Ivy,” she said, “‘cause those little skunks are ‘bout to kiss!”

Garnet knew she should be looking for her own books. She didn't know how long Mrs. Queen planned to be here, but it wouldn't be forever, and if she didn't have a decent selection of things to read, the next week - county fair or not - was bound to be pretty dull. Books were what kept her sane. She had a list of titles she wanted to look up to see if the library had a copy or if she’d have to ask them to send them through interloan. Odds were against them having **Murder Must Advertise** , she thought. They’d only had one other book in the series so far. The older books were harder to get, but she often liked them better.

Still she bypassed the mystery section and wandered to the back of the library where Mrs. Queen was. She heard her fingers tapping on the keys of her laptop before she saw her, but when she turned the corner there she was with her teeth biting down on her lower lip and her fingers flying.

"Wow,” Garnet said, “You can type really fast!" The words slipped out of her mouth, and she saw Mrs. Queen startle. Her right hand came up to her throat.

"You scared me," Mrs. Queen said.

"Sorry," Garnet said. "What are you doing?"

"Just checking on some things back home.” She closed one window and opened another. “I've got alerts set on some of the programs I created. I need to see if any of them went off."

"Is it hard to write a program?" Garnet asked.

Mrs. Queen glanced up, and her blond ponytail bounced. "What? Oh. No. Well, it depends on the program."

Garnet came up behind her and pointed to her screen. "What about this one?"

"It wasn't that hard to write, but you have to have mastered certain programming languages before you can tackle your own projects, and you have to stay on top of all of the changes in technology. Of course, I've been coding and taking computers apart since I was little, so it's kind of like breathing to me now."

"Really?" Garnet asked. "I've checked out a few books on programming languages, and they seem complicated."

"It's cumulative, like math," Mrs. Queen said. "Or learning to talk or write. Getting the basics can seem intimidating, but once you have them down, the possibilities are endless. The only limit is your imagination."

"You must be very smart," Garnet said and then regretted it. She didn’t want Mrs. Queen to think she thought she was dumb before, but she didn't know any kids who were coding or taking apart computers and certainly not anyone younger than her.

"Well," Mrs. Queen said with a tiny smile, "yes. I guess you could say that."

Garnet had a flash of a tiny Mrs. Queen with a screwdriver in her hand, surrounded by computer chips and wires. She thought of May's little friends and what they were like. "Did the other kids make fun of you for being so smart?" she asked.

Mrs. Queen stopped typing and looked at Garnet. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "I didn't have a lot of friends, especially as I got older," she said. "I kept skipping grades, and we changed apartments sometimes. Computers were kind of my friends. We spent a lot of time together."

Garnet realized she’d made Mrs. Queen sad and felt guilty about it. "But you have friends now," she said quickly. "I mean, Mr. Queen seems to really like you."

Mrs. Queen laughed and uncrossed her arms. "You could say that," she said. "It took awhile, but I got there. I have some very good friends now. Sometimes it’s easier to be an adult than a kid. And sometimes it isn’t.” She typed a quick sequence and then closed out the program she was working on.

Garnet sighed. She’d heard a lot of sayings about how great it was to be a kid. “Don’t wish your life away.” “Enjoy your childhood; you won’t get another one.” But kids never got to decide anything. It was all decided for them, and they were supposed to just like it. Mrs. Queen seemed to get that being a kid wasn’t always what it was cracked up to be, and she liked her a little bit more for that.  

“So what are you going to do now?” she asked.

Mrs. Queen smiled. She gave an exaggerated glance around the library, leaned in, and said, “I’m going to hack your local law enforcement’s database and see what they’ve got on Aaron’s uncle.”

That sounded a lot more exciting than looking up next week’s reading list, Lord Peter Wimsey or not. So Garnet pulled out the chair next to Mrs. Queen. “Can I watch?”

 

>>\--->

 

Aaron’s attention was buried deep in decapitated heads and exploding brains when he heard the little cough. He sunk deeper into his chair, hoping whoever it was would just move it along and leave him in peace, but a minute later the sound came again. Reluctantly he peered over the top of his book.

Incredibly, it was Rachel Schuyler. He closed his eyes and blinked, but when he opened them, she was still there. She had her long dark hair twisted up on the top of her head, and she was wearing a purple polka dotted shirt and a jean skirt. He had a flash of the horrified expression he’d seen on her pretty face the last time they’d been in the same room together, and he wished he could render himself invisible now.

“Um...hi, Aaron,” she said. Her hand came up to touch the back of her neck.

“Hi, uh, Rachel,” Aaron said. He stuffed the thick book in the space between his body and the chair.

“I saw you sitting here,” she said.

“Yeah,” Aaron said. “I was just, uh, reading.”

“Do you live around here?” Rachel asked. “I come here all the time, but I’ve never seen you.”

“No,” he said. “I got a ride in today with some people I know.”

“Oh, okay,” she said. She crossed one leg in front of the other and sort of pushed her toe into the blue flecked carpet. Aaron waited for her to say something else, but she just stood there.

“Did you need something?” he asked finally. He wasn’t sure why she’d come up to him. He remembered what her hands felt like when they pulled on his arm and what her voice sounded like when it yelled, “Stop! Stop it, Aaron!” He had stopped, but not until the damage was done and there were blood flecks all over his hand and her fingers too.

She looked like she might take off which would be the best option that he could imagine, frankly, when she took a deep breath and said, “I just wanted to say thank you.”

“Thank you?” Wait, what? That couldn’t be right, could it?

“You left school that day, and you never came back, and I didn’t know...well, I didn’t know what happened to you, but I was sorry I never got the chance to tell you…” she trailed off and stared at the floor.

The last time Aaron had seen Rachel Schuyler had been in the principal’s office and Kurt Noordyk had been sitting between them pinching his nose and swearing under his breath. “You never got to tell me what?” Aaron asked.

“To tell you that I was sorry you got expelled for punching Kurt, but that I was grateful you stood up for me. He spent the whole year in the seat behind me, poking his fingers under my bra strap and throwing spitwads in my hair. Him and Elyse Phillips. The two of them bullying me about my grades and my clothes and my small boobs,” she blushed with the last words. “Well, you were there.”

He’d been there. He’d watched them pick her apart all fall, calling her a bunch of stupid names before settling on the extra clever “Braino.” Rachel had gone from raising her hand to answer Mr. Bakhuizen’s questions at the beginning of the year to hunching over in her seat, chest pressed against her desk by May. She’d changed her hair too, pulling it back tightly so the little pieces of paper they threw at her couldn’t lodge in her curls.

“I wasn’t expelled,” he said and mentally kicked himself for admitting something that might raise questions. He was safer if no one at that school wondered what had happened to him.  

“You weren’t?” Rachel asked.

“Nah,” he said. “I left. I wasn’t going to apologize to Kurt for pounding his face. He deserved it. he deserved _more_ than a bloody nose.” Aaron remembered the malevolent look Kurt had shot at him just before his lawyer dad entered the principal’s office. “I didn’t want to be there anyway, so I left.”

“Well, they stopped,” Rachel said. “Elyse and Kurt. They finally stopped. I told my parents what had been going on, and they made a stink about it. Mr. Bakhuizen moved me, and I didn’t have to sit by them anymore. So thank you.” She smiled at him shyly. “That’s what I wanted to say.”

“I thought,” Aaron started to say and then closed his mouth. He’d thought she’d been disgusted by his rage. He _had_ kind of lost it between hearing the satisfying crack of Kurt’s nose and the next five or six...or maybe ten punches. Rachel had been the one person at Greenville Junior High who had seemed to notice him and not be repulsed by his too short pants and ragged hair. She’d smiled at him every day in class, and once she’d given him some pencil leads when he’d run out.

“You thought…”

“I thought you were afraid of me. Because I got so violent.”

“I’d imagined punching Kurt a hundred times,” Rachel said, “but I never had the nerve to do it. I was a little surprised when it happened, and I guess I reacted without thinking. I didn’t want you to get into too much trouble. But seeing you take him down...that was really great.”

“Yeah, well,” Aaron said, “you’re welcome.” He’d come home from school that day, grabbed a bunch of his stuff and shoved it into his backpack, and lit out for the old barn. He’d known staying meant a full beating from Uncle Greg, and so, in a way, he owed the last couple of months of peace to Rachel Schuyler and her bullying problem.

“So, uh, I’ll see you around?”

Man, she was cute. Why’d she have to be so cute? “I guess so,” he said. “I don’t know what my schedule’s going to be.”

“Okay,” Rachel said, and she turned to leave.

“I’ll be...” he said and then stopped. Rachel looked back at him and raised her eyebrows. “I think I’ll be at the fair next week, though. If you’re planning on being there. I promised this girl...this _little_ girl I’d watch her show her sheep.” He closed his eyes. Why had he said that? He was a huge dork.

Rachel beamed at him, though, like he _wasn’t_ a huge homeless dork who was living in a barn. “We always go to the fair,” she said. “I’ll look for you among the sheep. How old is your girl?”

“She’s not _my girl_ ,” he said, “but she’s like, I don’t know, nine? The sheep is almost bigger than she is. Should be interesting.”

“Should be,” Rachel said. She stood there for a moment longer, looking him right in the eye, and Aaron fought back the urge to flip his hair out of his eyes. She smiled at him again, a smaller smile, and said, “Okay, see you there.” Then she was gone.

Aaron let out the breath he’d been holding and collapsed into the armchair’s back. He felt like someone had just shot him in the face - in the best way possible.

 

>>\--->

 

Garnet watched Mrs. Queen try to hack her way into the police database. This was going to take awhile, she was sure - it was the police database, they had to have tons of security - but it was still interesting to watch. Mrs. Queen was humming happily to herself. Garnet frowned. Was that “Ode to Joy”?

“Bingo,” Mrs. Queen said. “I’m in.”

“You’re in?” Garnet asked.

“In like Flynn,” Mrs. Queen said. “Although, forget I said that. The phrase has some adult connotations you don’t need to be aware of. Yes, I’m in.”

Garnet moved behind her and watched as the Greenville Police Department website came up. “What are you looking for exactly?” she asked.

“The newspaper said Mr. Niemands had an altercation with police. I want to know what that was about.” She typed “Gregory Niemands” into the search bar, and a bunch of records came up. “Yes, here’s the other night,” she said and clicked on it.

“Where was he?” Garnet asked. “Was it a shoot out? Did he mow down a bunch of feds?”

Mrs. Queen’s lips twitched. “These were local police,” she said. “And it wasn’t a shoot out. It was at the hospital. In the room of a Jessica Barnes. I’m assuming that’s the woman they pulled out of the meth house the other night. She apparently woke up.” She scrolled down.

“So Ms. Barnes was in her room when she started screaming for help. When security came, they saw Mr. Niemands there holding a gun to her head. He was screaming at her for ‘calling the police.’”

Garnet gasped. “Did he kill her? Why did he think she ratted him out?” She’d been waiting her whole life, it seemed like, for an opportunity to use that phrase. This was exciting - not at all like canning beans, that was for sure.

Mrs. Queen kept scrolling. “He didn’t shoot her, but when police arrived he used her as a shield before he jumped out the window. Apparently she told him she wasn’t the one who called the police.”

“Who did she say called them then?” Garnet squinted at the screen.

Mrs. Queen lifted her finger off the keyboard. She’d reached the end of the incident report. She turned around to look at Garnet, and her face was suddenly very serious. “Aaron,” she said. “She said it was Aaron.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to tell you, Dear Reader, I'm starting to really love Aaron as a character. I wish I'd had my own Aaron in sixth grade, to be honest. 
> 
> Names have been changed to protect the guilty. As you know, middle school is hell.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone on the farm prepares for the possibility that Aaron may be in danger.

When Felicity pulled the minivan into the driveway and brought it to a stop, the kids were slower than usual getting out. She didn’t blame them; they all knew there was going to be a big discussion about what was to be done about the situation with Aaron’s uncle, and it wasn’t going to be fun and games. But she didn’t have time to rally the troops. She needed to find Oliver right away to let him know the changed status of their situation.

“Take your books to the house, girls,” she said. “And then go find your dad, Garnet, and let him know we need to talk to him. Ivy and May, stay in the house.” She turned and put a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “We’ll work this out,” she said. “You don’t need to worry, but you do need to be there when we discuss all this, so don’t go too far, okay?”

Aaron gave her a brief nod. He looked both tense and exhausted as he slumped off in the direction of the barn with his plastic bag of books. His white Archers t-shirt was tucked into the back of his ragged jean shorts except for one side in the back. From behind he looked younger than he was.

She took off for the cabin, hauling her purse over her shoulder, and then, just before she reached it, Oliver appeared out of nowhere and grabbed her from behind, swinging her in his arms. She shrieked at the top of her lungs, and then clapped a hand to her mouth so she wouldn’t frighten anyone else, but Oliver had already put her down and was holding her sturdily by the shoulders.

“Have I missed something?,” Oliver asked, rubbing his hands down her arms. He waited while her breathing returned to normal with one eyebrow slightly raised.

“I didn’t see you there,” Felicity said, hand moving down to her throat. “I guess that’s stating the obvious.”  

“You seem a little jumpy,” Oliver said. “What’s going on?”

She sucked in a breath and then huffed it out. “It’s Aaron,” she said. “When I hacked the police database at the library, we learned that his Uncle attacked his girlfriend at the hospital and drew a gun on her. She told him it was Aaron who called the police.”

Oliver’s face tensed, and Felicity could see him start to do the kind of unpleasant math he was too good at: adding up unforeseen consequences of his actions. She hated when he blamed himself. He did it too often.

“Hey,” she said. “It’s not your fault. She was dying, and you called 911. It’s what any decent person would have done.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, feeling the bristle of his beard rake her lips. Oliver pulled her into his side and pressed his lips to her hair.

“I know,” he said. “It’s what you would have done too.”

“If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be the Oliver I know and love,” she said. “It goes against your nature to do anything other than protect.” Felicity herself had spent the drive back from the library vacillating between wishing that Oliver had found that woman _after_ she’d choked to death on her own vomit and feeling like a judgy bitch. She didn’t say it, and she wished she hadn’t thought it. The truth could not be ignored, though. What kind of a woman deflected danger from herself to an innocent child? Not one worth putting yourself in jeopardy for. Now Aaron had a target on his back because of what they’d done trying to help him.

“I’m assuming the local law enforcement did not manage to round up Mr. Niemands?”

“He used her as a shield and jumped out of a window,” Felicity said.

“Enterprising,” Oliver said. “He must not have consumed that much of his own product.”

“I guess not.”

“So where does that leave us?” he asked.

“Well, it’s still very possible that he doesn’t know where Aaron is. We can hope for that. The Andersons have got to be updated, though. I don’t want to endanger them as well. Garnet said she would find her dad.”

Oliver nodded. “I’m going to pull together the weapons I have and put them where they might be most handy. Is it okay if I meet you at the house in a few minutes?”  

“I just came to get you. I want to drop my bag off, and then I’m going back to the house. I’ll see you there.” She kissed him again and moved toward the cabin.

Oliver grabbed her upper arm, “Felicity,” he said, “don’t worry. You know we can take this guy blindfolded, right? He’s nothing compared to half the guys we’ve taken down in Starling.”

“I know,” Felicity said. “But we have to do it without involving law enforcement, alerting CPS, or spilling any blood in front of children. That’s the trick this time.”

“That is the trick,” Oliver said. “And we will pull it off. We’ve got this.”

Confidence was essential, Felicity knew, so she shooed her anxiety away and nodded firmly. “We’ve got this.”

 

>>\--->

 

A half an hour later they were all assembled in the farmhouse’s long living room. “My dad’s coming,” Garnet said and flopped in an armchair. “He’s was out by the stream.”

The furniture in here was the same as in all of the rooms Felicity had seen so far: antique but child-proofed. The sofa had an ornate wooden back, but the original upholstery had been replaced with a medium brown synthetic fabric that looked like it could survive a nuclear attack. It was covered in soft light brown throw pillows. Parallel to it stood a long wooden box that served as a coffee table. It was plain except for the inlaid top that spelled out ANDERSON in tan,brown, and cream ceramic tiles. A padlock hung from a clasp attached to its lid.

The room’s tall windows were open to let the breeze through, but they were hung with long brown velvet curtains that could be drawn and tied in colder weather. A round table that held Caroline’s herbal plant collection was placed in front of the one near the front door. Aaron stood next to it; he was toying with a piece of aloe plant, pulling one of its fat arms back and forth gently. When it broke off in his fingers, he looked horrified. He moved to shove it in the front pocket of his shorts. May stopped him before he could push it all the way in.

“That’s not what you do with aloe, silly,” she said and took it from him. She pulled out a tiny pocket knife and peeled off the outer skin, holding it up to his face. “You cut it, and then you put the wet part on your owie so it heals. You got an owie?”

Aaron looked at her blankly and then began searching himself. Eventually he pointed to his knee. It had a long scratch mark on it that was already half healed. “Here,” he said.

“Hmm,” May said, and her face scrunched in concentration as she patted the ooze onto his knee.  “There. Feel better? If you need a bandaid, I can get you one.”

“That’s okay,” Aaron said. “I don’t think it’s bleeding.”

“We got some Hello Kitty bandaids,” May said. “Sometimes I just like to wear one, even if my owie’s not too bad.”  

“Or bad at all,” Garnet said from her chair. “Or even exists.”

“We’ve got some Equiwrap too,” Ivy said. She was sitting on the arm of the sofa. “For emergencies. Mom lets me use it to play Animal Hospital too. Remember, Mr. Queen?” She turned to the corner of the room where Oliver was standing and smiled at him.

Felicity watched Oliver’s face soften before she caught his eyes. “I do,” he said, then pulled his expression together, she assumed, for her benefit. “I’m not sure the rabbits entirely appreciated your thoroughness.”

“They’ll appreciate it if there’s a real bunny emergency,” she said. “I gave them their choice of colors.”

“I noticed they both picked pink - which I assume is unusual for boy rabbits.”

“Pink’s not just for girls, Mr. Queen. All bunnies can like it if they want,” Ivy said in her best teacher’s voice, and then she gave up. They both grinned at each other.

The front door opened, and Pete Anderson strode into the room. He pulled his cap off and slapped it lightly against his jeans. “Okay,” he said. Garnet said you needed to talk to me? What’s up?”

Felicity looked to Garnet. She wasn’t entirely sure she could rely on her to relay what had happened without inappropriate dramatic flourishes, but she had read everything at the source, and it would make her feel important to tell it.

Garnet nodded solemnly at her and said, “Mr. Niemands came to the hospital and pulled a gun on his girlfriend, and she told him that Aaron had sent the police to get him.” Then she bit her bottom lip. Felicity could practically see the additional words being held hostage in her mouth, words like “human shield” and “coming for him” and “No one is safe!” Garnet clasped her hands on the arms of the chair but otherwise stayed quiet, and Felicity was proud of her.

“I didn’t, sir,” Aaron said. He’d been leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, but he shoved his weight off of it and stood straight. “I swear I didn’t call them. I wasn’t even there.”

“I didn’t think you had.” Pete said in his deep, calm voice. “But since apparently she was dying,” he said, “whoever was there did the right thing.”

“I guess,” Aaron said. “But if he knows where I am, all of you could be in danger too.”

“ _Does_ he know where you are?” Pete asked.

“I don’t think so,” Aaron said, “but I don’t know. I haven’t seen him or talked to him since I ran away from that house in May. But he’s a bad guy, Mr. Anderson. Really bad. And he’s not stupid. I should leave so you can all be safe here.” He glanced down at May who was clenching the pieces of aloe in her small fist and looking worried for him.

Pete looked at him steadily and then put his cap back on. “We’re on orange alert status, girls,” he said. “Ivy, tell Aaron what that means so he doesn’t think we’re a bunch of militia nuts on constant panic setting.”

Ivy turned to Aaron. “Orange alert status means that our eyes and ears are open, we’re aware of our surroundings and prepared for an emergency. And we stay close to the house.”

Aaron raised his eyebrows. “Are you on, uh, orange…”

“Orange alert status,” Garnet said, rolling her eyes a tiny bit. “Dad was an Eagle Scout. ‘Be prepared.’”

“...orange alert status often?” Aaron asked.

“Not really,” Ivy said. “But ‘this is a farm with children and animals.’” She looked at her dad who smiled at her approvingly. “We have storms and tornados, animals sometimes go missing, Mom is pregnant, and May’s not that good a swimmer. Precautions need to be taken.”

“I’m pretty good at swimming!” May said.

“You’re getting much better,” Ivy said.

“Girls, take Aaron and show him where the family meeting spot is, in case of fire or other serious emergency,” Pete said. “After that, I believe your mother asked to see him today.” He walked over to the middle of the room and knelt down in front of the coffee table. “And Aaron?” He looked up at the boy.

“Yes, sir?”

“You should know: your uncle’s days of hurting you are over, son.” He flipped the numbers on the padlock until it clicked, and pulled it off. Then he opened the lid to reveal a gun safe and a supply of ammunition. He looked over at Oliver, and Felicity saw Oliver’s posture go from relaxed to military just like that - as if an invisible puppeteer were pulling on his strings from above. No matter how many times she saw it, she was still fascinated to watch Oliver morph in real time from himself to someone else. His body was now an impenetrable wall of muscle and determination.

The two men shared a look, and Pete grabbed a rifle from the box. Then he turned back to the boy. “That’s not going to happen on our watch.”

 

>>\--->

  
Aaron was still grappling with watching Mr. Anderson and Oliver change into locked-and-loaded super badasses when Ivy, May, and Garnet took him outside and showed him a spot by the garage.

“This is it,” Ivy said. “The Anderson family safe spot. If there’s a fire or other event and somehow we get separated, this is where we come. Right here. There’s a special call for Felix even.” She stuck two fingers into her mouth and shrieked out a high whistle. Aaron heard a rustle from the direction of the barn and saw the dog come running. He reached them at a breakneck pace and started leaping up and down.  

“Sit,” Ivy said. “Good boy, good boy.” She patted him on the head, and Felix licked her face a bunch of times in happiness.

“Got it?” May asked. Felix flung himself in the tall grass and started rolling around like a maniac.

“Got what?” Aaron asked.

“The family spot,” May said. “We usually do a drill, and Dad times us with a stopwatch, but you’re probably old enough to just remember.”

“I got it,” Aaron said. “This is the spot to come in case of emergency. Outside of the garage by the old gas pump.” He pointed to the ground. “What is your dog doing?”

“Taking a grass bath,” Ivy said. “He does that if it’s hot and the grass is particularly green and soft.”

“A grass bath,” Aaron said.

“Yep,” May said. “And if you know where you’re supposed to come, it’s time to go see Mom.” She gave him her biggest smile. “How ‘bout we go piggyback?”

 

>>\--->

 

When Aaron finished carrying May up the stairs, he set her down on the planked floor boards and saw that the bedroom he was now in was wallpapered in books. There were books on tables and the desk - children’s books, textbooks, recipe books, and an open diary on the night table. Bookcases lined nearly every section of wall that didn’t have windows as well, and there was a sewing basket near the cast iron bed Mrs. Anderson was sitting cross-legged on. A couple of books lay on top of what looked like mending. He’d never seen so many books anywhere outside of the library. No wonder these kids liked to read so much.

Mrs. Anderson was peering over a pattern book. She had knitting needles in her hand, and another one was twisted through the curly dark hair on top of her head. She looked up when they entered the room. She was dressed in a couple of tank tops and a long skirt, but her stomach was so large it peeked out of them both. Aaron was kind of embarrassed to see the pulled skin there, so he looked away.

“Hi there,” she said, smiling and Aaron could see May in the bright cheerfulness of her face. “Did May tell you it’s time for your haircut? Thanks for giving me something useful to do today, by the way.”

“Haircut?”

“I didn’t, Mommy,” May said. “I thought it would be a surprise.” She climbed up on the bed and stuck her hand on her mother’s stomach for a minute. “Must be sleeping,” she said in a disappointed voice.

“Yes, I’ve seen you out the window,” Mrs. Anderson said. “By the way, I’m May’s mother, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now - and you’re Aaron. Anyway, it’s clear that your hair has reached the emergency stage, so I thought we’d address that now.” She put her arm around May and gave her a kiss on the top of her ponytail.

“My hair’s fine,” Aaron said and whipped his head to get it out of his face.

“Oh, but it’s not,” Mrs. Anderson said. “I’ve seen you. You’re giving yourself whiplash with all that neck movement. Bring me that chair.” She gestured to the corner.

Aaron looked at May. “Better do it,” she said. “Moms have got their ways.”

Aaron went and grabbed the pressback chair she’d indicated, liberating a couple of books on animal husbandry from the seat and placing them on the floor. He brought it over to Mrs. Anderson.

“Turn it around,” she said, “and sit down. Hmm, no that’s too low.” She took a fat textbook off the bed. “Sit on this. May, get me a comb and the scissors from the bathroom. And carry them point down. Don’t run. I won’t start without you.” May slid down from the bed and disappeared in the hallway.

“This would be easier if you were to wet your hair down first,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Can I convince you to do that?”

Aaron shook his head. He was wondering how offended she might be if he just bolted out of the room, but by then May was back with the comb, the scissors, and a towel. “It won’t hurt,” she said. “When I was little and scared of scissors, we played a game called ‘Snip snip chocolate chip.’ I can see if we have any if you think you’re going to be scared.”

Aaron sat down. “No, thank you,” he said. He heard Mrs. Anderson scooch herself to the edge of the bed and felt her touch the hair at his crown. “It’s soft,” she said, combing through it. “And such a nice brown color. Like mine. My girls are all blondes, like Pete.” He felt her arrange the towel around his neck and then a light tug and the soft scritch of the scissors, and he watched as a chunk of hair fell to the ground in front of him.

“Pete doesn’t let me trim his hair,” Mrs. Anderson said. “He only lets me buzz it. And the girls all have long hair, so I’m a little out of practice, but don’t worry.” He felt her snip again, a couple of times, and an alarmingly large clump of hair fell on his shoulder. “Anyway, It’s only hair, right? It’ll grow back.”

Aaron closed his eyes.

“I’m so bored and hot up here,” Mrs. Anderson said. “I’m not used to doing nothing all day, especially not in the summer. This baby’s keeping me in bed, though. She sets the rules.”

“She?” May asked. “Is it a _girl_? Do you know, Mommy?”

“I don’t yet, honey,” Mrs. Anderson said, “but she feels just like you girls did. I’m carrying the same. Although I don’t know why people think boys and girls should carry differently. They’re not so very different at this stage. It might be a boy, though. I’ve always wanted a boy. I think Daddy could use the company, frankly. The ratio of estrogen to testosterone in this house is a bit skewed.” She laughed and snipped a few more times.

By this time Aaron had stopped hoping for a decent haircut, so he concentrated instead on the feel of her hands in his hair. They were gentle and swift, almost impersonal. He liked that. If she had to be touching him, it was better this way.

“My first and last pregnancies were easy peasy,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Peasant births. I could have had Garnet and May out on the side of the field and continued hoeing after, but I had complications with Ivy. Placenta previa. I was lucky I managed to deliver her without a C-section. I’m hoping to do the same with this one. My midwife is optimistic.” She eased her way off the bed and started trimming the front of his hair. She had to lean over to do it, and her belly was right in Aaron’s face. He closed his eyes again.

“This is our bonus baby, so we have to take care of it. Do whatever it takes,” May said.

“Bonus baby?” Aaron asked.

“Yep,” Mrs. Anderson said. “We didn’t think we would have another baby, so we did all the paperwork to be a foster family last year. We were hoping to adopt that way, but then we got this news.”

“Surprise!” May said.

“Surprise,” Mrs. Anderson said. “I’m just about done here, Aaron, so why don’t you look in the mirror by the dresser there and tell me what you think.” She brushed some hair off his shoulders and moved to the side.

Aaron stood and crossed the room to the dresser. He blinked at himself in the mirror. The boy there had short brown hair, stylishly cut. His forehead was paler than the center of his face which was sunburned and looked a bit unfamiliar. His nose seemed larger and his mouth wider.

“We can see _all_ of your face now.” May came up behind him and her face appeared in the mirror too, smiling her gap-toothed smile.

Aaron turned from his image to tell Mrs. Anderson thank you, when, from the front yard, he heard Tunie start howling. He frowned. His dog had taken pretty well to farm life, mostly laying around in a pool of sunshine either in the barn or the yard. She didn’t bother the other animals, and she let the girls pet her all they wanted. She just wanted to rest and sniff out scraps. It was strange then, the alert he heard in her bark. She sounded like she had when they lived… He went to the window, peered out - and froze.

Across the street was his uncle’s tan Ford F-150, and leaning against it was the man himself. From this distance Aaron couldn’t see that well, but he could tell Uncle Greg was not at his best at the moment. His plaid shirt was dirty and torn, and his hair was sticking up at all angles.  Aaron was surprised he was still driving the truck. Didn’t they have a warrant out for his arrest? Knowing him, he’d ripped a plate off of someone, and maybe he was keeping it parked in the woods when he wasn’t driving it. He was probably sleeping in it. There was a lot of land around here to disappear into.

Uncle Greg’s left arm was extended across the truck bed, and his hand hung down on the inside. Warning bells went off in Aaron’s head.

Tunie crouched on her front feet about 15 feet away from him, howling loud enough to chase away demons, her tail stiff  and twitching behind her.

Aaron heard the front door open. “Girls, you go upstairs now,” Mr. Anderson said. There was a cacophony of footsteps on the stairs, and Garnet and Ivy appeared in their mother’s room. They went straight to the window.

“Get away from there, girls,” Mrs. Anderson said, but they ignored her. May joined them so she could see what was going on outside too.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Niemands?” Mr. Anderson called out. “I thought we’d hashed out the boundary line between your property and mine.”

“I’m here for my nephew,” Uncle Greg said.

“He’s not here,” Mr. Anderson said calmly. “Why would you think he was here?”

“That’s his dog,” Uncle Greg said, pointing at Tunie.

“Is it?”

“It is.”

“I wouldn’t know about that. She came here as a stray a few days ago, and we fed her,” Mr. Anderson said.

“Well, you won’t mind if I take her then,” Uncle Greg said lifting his weight away from the truck.  Aaron stiffened. He noticed that his uncle’s hidden hand was still out of sight.

“I do mind,” Mr. Anderson said. “My girls like her. Bring me her dog license, and we’ll talk ownership.”

“I don’t have to talk ownership with you to take my dog,” Uncle Greg said. “I don’t have to do anything. I’ll take her if I want her.”

“You won’t,” Mr. Anderson said.

“Or what? You’ll call the cops? ” Uncle Greg said, laughing. “With what phone?” and he pulled out his hand, the hand holding a gun, out from behind the truck bed wall and pointed it at Tunie. “She’s mine, and I’ll do what I want with her.”

Aaron gasped, but Tunie just howled louder.

“Put the gun down,” Mr. Anderson said. “We can talk about this.”

“Gun? Get them away from the window,” Mrs. Anderson yelled to Aaron. Aaron tried to push himself in front of all three girls, but Garnet planted her feet and refused to budge and May ran to the other window. Ivy threw herself to the floor but her eyes stayed glued to what was going on in the front yard.

Uncle Greg laughed. “I guess now I have your attention, Amish.”

“We’re not Amish,” Garnet said under her breath, but just then Aaron heard the sound of paws pounding from around the side of the house. Felix appeared and ran straight for the road and Uncle Greg.

“Felix!” Ivy stood and yelled out the open window, but the dog kept running, tail wagging, tongue hanging out of his mouth. He passed the frantically barking Tunie and ran right up to the side of the truck, set on greeting the newcomer. Uncle Greg reached down to pet him, grabbed his collar, and held the gun to the side of his head.

“Felix, no! Run!” Ivy yelled. Aaron put his hand on her shoulder to push her down and out of sight, but before she could say anything else, the gun went off.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The situation with Niemands plays out, and Oliver has an interesting reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry you thought I was going to kill the dog, either dog. They're both my dogs, though - they look and act like my real dogs - and [I lost one of them last month to cancer](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4508019), so I wasn't going to lose the one I have left even for pretend. 
> 
> I'm dealing a bit with Oliver's PTSD here and how the two of them are beginning to manage it together. I think this will be an important part of their developing relationship and how they make it work.

Oliver heard the dog bark outside, and, as he moved towards the window, he saw the truck pull slowly on to the side of the road. When he saw Niemands step out of the truck, he knew what was about to go down.

“Niemands is outside,” Oliver said. “You talk to him from here. He knows you’re here, but he doesn’t know about me. I’m going to see if I can approach from the side without him noticing.”

Pete picked up his rifle. “Girls, get upstairs,” he said.

“Felicity, be ready to call for help,” Oliver said. He touched her shoulder before he passed out of the living room to the kitchen and out the back door, careful to close the screen door slowly behind him. He had a bow and quiver stashed out of sight by the garage, and he ran silently in that direction. Grabbing them, he worked his way around the house. Pete was on the porch now, his rifle behind his back, and Niemands was momentarily distracted by Tunie’s barking. He loped across the side lawn and hid behind a thick stand of lilac bushes. Then he pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it.

Niemands in the flesh wasn’t all that intimidating. He was a big guy, yes, but he was fleshy and pale. His sleeveless plaid shirt was ripped across one shoulder, and his reddish brown hair was sticking out all all different angles. He looked like he’d been on a bender that had gone south, but his eyes were clear and sharp, and Oliver did not underestimate the mayhem this asshole was capable of causing Aaron and the Anderson family without trying too hard.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Niemands?” Pete called out over Tunie’s barking.

“I’m here for my nephew,” Niemands said.

“Your nephew? Why would you think he was here?” Pete asked.

“That’s his dog,” Uncle Greg said, pointing at Tunie.

Oliver watched as they talked, narrowing his focus to Niemands’ hidden hand. There was something twitchy about his posture, and his arrogance was a warning sign. He was probably hiding a weapon, and, gun or knife, Tunie was certainly close enough to get hurt.

Pete was doing his best to keep Niemands calm, but it wasn’t working that well. Niemands obviously wasn’t used to being handled, and he didn’t like it. Oliver was calculating how easy this guy would be to simply tackle, when Niemands pulled out a handgun and pointed it at Tunie.

“Put the gun down,” Pete yelled. “We can talk about this.”

Just then Felix came running from around the side of the house straight toward Niemands. At first he was his usual friendly self, but as he neared he took in Tunie’s aggressive barking and Niemands’ tense body language, and Oliver saw his posture change from a greeting to fear. Niemands’ grabbed him before he could back away, though, and he shoved the gun to Felix’s head.

“Felix, run!” Oliver heard a high voice scream from the upstairs window. Oliver was already letting his arrow fly, however, and it hit Niemands in the wrist and knocked the gun from his hand as it was going off. A second later he heard glass break and more screaming from upstairs. Felix wrested himself from Niemands’ grip, and he and Tunie took off together. Oliver ran toward Niemands, ready to take him down, but as he saw the blood stream from his hand down to pool on the ground at his feet, he wasn’t standing in tall grass on the Anderson farm anymore.

He was in Thea’s apartment watching the life flow out of his sister, completely unable to stop it.

 

>>\--->

 

The broken glass from the shattered coffee table crunched under Oliver’s shoes as he ran toward Thea’s broken body. She was there alone, choking on her own blood, and he gathered her up in his arms, but it was too late.

Too late.

He felt the blood gush out of her, soaking the towel he had pressed to her abdomen as he carried her - too late - down the stairs and to the waiting ambulance.

He heard time tick by on the watch on his wrist as he crouched next to her gurney while the EMTs tried to stabilize her - too late - on route to the hospital.

He watched the four lines on the monitor, three green and one blue, go flat and stay flat despite the efforts of the ER staff to revive her.

It was too late when they started CPR, when they tried desperately to get those flat lines to do something. To _do something_. ANYTHING. And all he could do was watch them fail and Thea slip away from this world, her body still living, but without her in it.

He smelled her blood on his hands, as he wiped away the tears he could not stop from flowing down his face. Blood, tears; they just kept coming, no matter what he did. No matter what he didn’t do. And nothing he ever did seemed to stop any of it. ANY of it, goddamn it. Why couldn’t he stop any of it? Thea, Akio, his mother...

And then there was Felicity holding his face, lightly slapping his cheek, saying, “Oliver, Oliver!”

He blinked and shook his head. “What?” he asked. “What?”

Her hand moved up the side of his face to his ear, and she closed her eyes briefly and sighed. “Okay,” she said. “Where are we?”

He looked around and was surprised to see it was day, not night, and he was outside in the sunshine and not inside a hospital corridor. And he wasn’t alone. Felicity was here, and so was Felix, and he was licking Oliver’s hand a little frantically. Oliver breathed in slowly and dug his fingernails into his palms to help make the corridor completely recede. The sun on his face was warm, but Felicity was rubbing both of her palms up and down his arms. He realized he was shivering.

“The Anderson farm,” he said. “Outside of Greenville.”

“Yes,” Felicity said. “Now, where were you?”

“The hospital,” he said. “With Thea.”

“And where is Thea now?” she asked.

“In Starling City,” he said.

“And she’s?”

“She’s fine,” Oliver said. “She called yesterday. She was mad because her condo had some ant infestation and she was going to have to stay with Laurel for a few days.”

“Now the other part,” Felicity said. “On a scale of 1 to 10: fear.”

“Not so bad,” Oliver said. “5? I was more angry this time.”

She nodded. “Scale of 1 to 10: self loathing.”

Oliver grimaced. “Probably an 8. Maybe higher.”

“How far down the list did you make it?”

“Just to my mother,” he said. “Then you were slapping my face.” Then a more complete realization of the moment came back to him and he stood up suddenly. “Niemands?” he asked.

“Gone,” Felicity said. “You got him in the hand, though. That’s going to slow him down and cause him some problems. Maybe he’ll die of gangrene. We can always hope.”

“And the girls? Felix?”

“Felix has spent the last three minutes licking the salt from your hands. He’s fine. The girls are fine too.”

“But I heard a scream, and glass breaking.”

Felicity nodded at him slowly. “That must have been the trigger? A girl’s voice and the glass?”

Oliver nodded. “And the blood on Niemands hands. I think. Was anyone hurt?”

“Everyone’s fine, Oliver,” she said. “Everyone but you. I think you need a little TLC, to be honest.”

Oliver looked at the ground. “Did Pete see...see me?”

Felicity smiled at him sadly. “He was more concerned with making sure everyone upstairs was okay,” she said. “But Oliver - you have nothing to be ashamed of. You saved Felix. You got rid of Niemands.”

“I didn’t capture him, though,” he said. “My mind was too busy rehashing old ‘trauma’ for shits and giggles. Because apparently I can’t handle the sight of blood anymore. Big tough guy.”

Felicity wedged herself underneath his arm like a crutch, and he realized he was still shaking. “The biggest,” she said. “The toughest. A big, tough guy who had to watch his sister die in front of him just a few months ago and was willing to sacrifice himself so a whole city could live.” She pressed her hand against his chest where his Bratva tattoo was. “My brave boyfriend who has the biggest heart.”

Oliver stopped and closed his eyes. He knew what she was doing. He knew she’d read up on all of this: his nightmares, the dissociative states he sometimes fell into, his anger, his negative thought spirals. She was doing for him what he couldn’t seem to do very well for himself, and a part of him wanted her to knock it off. He didn’t want to play the “three things” game. The pit of dark thoughts was familiar; he knew exactly how to get there - just take the path of least resistance. It hurt, but it was easy, and he felt it was earned.

“Now,” Felicity said, “this is the last part until we get back to the cottage, but you’ve got do it. Don’t fight me on this. You’ll lose. Three good things about Oliver Queen.”

“Felicity,” he said.

“Uh uh,” she said, “Three things. And don’t try that “I’m tall” crap again. Tall is not an objective good, and it has nothing to do with your sense of self worth.”

“Tall is an objective good,” Oliver said. “Studies have show that taller people--”

“I don’t give a crap _what studies have shown_ , Oliver,” she said. “Three things that you have control over.”

And wasn’t that the problem? He felt like he didn’t have control over anything. But she was looking up at him with her pink lips pursed in that annoyed way that should have made her look bitchy but only pushed her lush lips into another intriguing shape. Behind her Pete opened the door and looked out. “You guys all right?” he called out.

Oliver sighed. Felicity was stubborn, and she would get those three things out of him, with or without witnesses. He preferred not to have an audience for this, though.

“I’m strong, I have a lot of practical skills, and I’m a great kisser,” he said. He lifted his hand from her shoulder and waved at Pete.

Felicity wrapped her arms around his chest and squeezed with what Oliver knew was her whole strength. “The best,” she said. “The very best.” He kissed her on the top of her head.

“We’re going to work on your list, though,” she said. “You can do a lot of amazing things, but that’s not why I love you.” 

“Oh?” he said and waggled his eyebrows at her.

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “I know what you’re doing, and don’t change the subject. I don’t love you for your big muscles, and I don’t love you for your sexy ways. Don’t get me wrong, I love those things, and I don’t want you to stop doing any, really, any of those things. But that’s not why I love you. I love you for your big heart, Oliver.”

Oliver felt his throat begin to close in a dangerous way, and Pete was walking across the lawn to talk to them now, so he said what he could manage and hoped it would be enough for her:

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” He took her hand and squeezed it. He allowed himself the luxury of looking into her eyes for a short moment. Not long enough to let himself fade out in a different way; just long enough to tell her what he really wanted her to know. What he _needed_ her to know.

“Good,” she said, blinking up at him. She lifted his hand up to her mouth and kissed it, and they turned toward Pete together.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I’d give a heads up to anyone who’s been following this story. I’d intended to finish AWotG up by the time Arrow started up again in October, but I don’t think I’ll be able to. I always had a skeleton or basic mechanical structure (pick a metaphor) in mind when I was planning this out, but the way I’ve chosen to construct my characters and their internal and external conflicts, I just can’t see finishing in another 8-10,000 words and believe it will feel authentic and resolved. I'm nowhere done with these characters, I'm afraid. 
> 
> I also have to start my [Olicity Fic Bang](http://olicityficbang.tumblr.com/post/127235450150/olicity-fic-big-bang-2015) entry which I’ve mentally constructed as a holiday story with some Olicity intercultural conflict. There are actual calendar deadlines I have to meet for that, so it may affect my AWotG posting schedule as well. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading and for your patience.
> 
> If you like this story, please do leave feedback. It's more encouraging than you know.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Mr. Niemands attack, Oliver talks to Aaron and then to Felicity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I re-planned how this story is going to tell itself (ha!), I've left myself more room for Oliver and Felicity to figure out what it means to be a couple and discover what a healthy family dynamic looks like. I'm playing with that a bit in this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for all of the comments last week. Without reader encouragement and interest, I know I wouldn't have gotten so far on this. If you have thoughts or ideas about what's happening here in Chapter 18, please let me know in the comments. Smoochies to all of my readers.

After the commotion was over, after Ivy had stopped crying, after Mr. Anderson had finished hugging everyone, including him, after Felix had been found and petted and kissed, Aaron eased his way out of the family's kind embrace and made his way out of the house.

As soon as he stepped outside, Tunie was there, wagging her tail, ready to tell him with her moans and her licks how scary all of that had been for her, but how brave she'd been keeping that bad man from her boy.

Tunie _hated_ Uncle Greg.

Aaron bent down and pulled her smooth ear through his hand slowly, grateful his uncle's gun hadn't taken that privilege away from him yet. The frantic look hadn't left Tunie's eyes yet, and Aaron put his arms around her neck. "Same, Tunie," he said. "Same. I wish a semi had come and plowed him over while he was in the road. Did you see what he tried to do to Felix?"

Tunie wasn’t Felix’s biggest fan, Aaron could tell. That dog had too much energy, and Tunie had been left alone too long on her chain, but Aaron knew she wouldn’t want Felix to be killed because she was a kind dog at heart.

“I don’t think I can stay with these people,” he told her in a whisper. “All this stuff from my life is spilling over onto them now. I know you like it here, and I do too, but we can’t endanger them. I’m going to go get my stuff together, and we’ll leave tonight when no one’s looking. Come on.”

As Aaron walked to the barn he saw again the pickle patch he’d hoed and the herb garden Mrs. Anderson had asked that he weed because, with the rain, it was getting out of control. He ran a hand over his head, feeling how tidy his hair now felt, and remembered the round circles his face had made in the mirror - a circle of red within a paler one, and round blue eyes trying hard not to be hopeful.

“This won’t take too long,” he said and dropped to his knees in the basil patch. It was full of lamb’s quarters, purslane, and quack grass. He reached down in the dirt and started digging them out with his fingers. If you didn’t do it right, they’d be back, his mom had told him so many times, but who were they kidding? They’d be back no matter what he did. If he did a decent job, though, it would take longer; they’d have to form again from seed.

 A pair of tennis shoes appeared in his vision, and then Oliver knelt down beside him.

 “Can I ask you what you’re going to do?” he asked.

 Aaron paused. He had a feeling Oliver wasn’t talking about the herb garden. “Mrs. Anderson wanted this weeded,” he said.

 Oliver nodded. “I don’t know the weeds from the herbs. Which of these needs to go?”

“See these plants that look like little pipelines?” Aaron said. “That’s purslane. It will break off if you tug it, though, so you’ve got to root it out.”

 Oliver pushed his hands into the soil and carefully pulled the plant out. He held it up, and Aaron nodded.

 “It’s everywhere, see? Just concentrate on that,” Aaron said.

 “What I meant was, when are you planning on leaving the Andersons?”

 “Leaving?” Aaron asked, and dropped the handful of lamb’s quarter he’d tugged out. “What gave you the idea--”

 “That whole thing with your uncle and Felix,” Oliver said, “it shook you up.”

 “I’m fine,” Aaron said.

 "You are mentally packing your bags right now,” Oliver said. “I know because it’s what I’d be doing. Well, it’s what I would have done.”

 Aaron frowned. “What you _would_ have done?”

 “Before. Before this summer. I’d have cut and run, worried that the danger that followed me everywhere would hurt these nice people too.

 “Would have?”

 “You’re a good kid, Aaron,” Oliver said, pulling out another clump of weeds. “None of this is your fault. You didn’t ask for any of this to happen - for your mom to die, your dad to leave, for your uncle to be what he is. And the rest of it, whatever that was.”

Aaron swallowed. How did he know there was more? Was there something about him that showed it on his face? In the way he acted?

“You deserve - like all kids deserve - to have a family that cares about you and a family that cares  _for_ you. I think the Andersons could be that family.”

 “They’re too good for me,” Aaron said, shaking his head.

 “Listen to me,” Oliver said, putting a firm hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “They’re not.”

 “All I can bring them is trouble,” Aaron said.

 “That is the good thing about this situation,” Oliver said. “Because that’s not true. You’ve got skills and abilities that can help them too. Sure, you need a family, but they’re stretched a little thin right now. You being here has really helped Mr. Anderson get the work done.”

 “You’ve done a ton of the work too,” Aaron said.

 “True,” Oliver said, “But don’t sell yourself short. They can use you, and you know they could love you. They’re loving people, and you’ve got a lot of good qualities. You’ve already got one fangirl here.” He past Aaron and smiled.

“Who?” Aaron asked. When he turned around he saw May and Ivy throwing a ball for Felix in the yard. He smiled a little, embarrassed, “Oh, May?”

“She’s got a case of hero worship, I think. She thinks you hung the moon.”

“I’m not a hero,” Aaron said. “But she’s okay.”

“Just give it some thought,” Oliver said. “If you leave you can’t help them and you certainly won’t be helping yourself.”

“All right,” Aaron said and went back to tugging up quack grass. “I’ll think about it.”

  


>>\--->

  


When Oliver returned to the cabin after rechecking the farmhouse and its security yet again, Felicity was waiting for him in bed. He ducked his head when he came in the low door frame. His face was creased in concentration as he toed off his tennis shoes, and she knew the moment he saw her because his face softened.

“Come here,” she said, patting the bed. “It’s been a long day, and I’m going to practice some of this stuff I read about on you. And then we can talk.” She gave him a big smile, throwing all the reassurance she had into it.

Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Some of the stuff you read about _where_? And what are we talking about?” he asked in a careful tone. She could tell that alarm bells were starting to go off in his head. She probably should have stuck with her normal nightwear - sleep shorts and a tank top - but Oliver was such a tactile person, she thought he might enjoy the green satin nightie she’d put on.

Of course, the goal was less “enjoyment” and more “ramping down from complete panic and overstimulation.” She should have thought that through a little more. Oh well. She knew some ways to loosen him up and get him talking. She lifted herself up on her knees and let the nightie gap away from her chest. She saw his gaze sharpen, but he remained by the door.

“I’m kind of sweaty,” he said. “I think I’ll just wash off.”

“I can help you with that,” she said, crawling to the edge of the bed.

“No, I’m okay,” he said. He went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. After a minute, she heard water running, and she started to review her strategy.

There _were_ things that relaxed Oliver: lavender water on his pillowcase, very firm back rubs, sex. More sex. He wasn’t that tough of a nut to crack. Running calmed him down, and so did time spent in nature. Classical music and meditation. Some of these he’d incorporated into his own routines, and she knew they helped him cope, but talking about his experiences would also help, and he wasn’t that great with that. She didn’t want to pry or force him to talk, but she wanted to develop a few more coping strategies with him because, frankly, when she wasn’t around to stabilize him, he struggled.

He tried so _hard_ not to need people, and he needed certain people so much. It broke her heart to watch him isolate rather than reach out and take what he needed - what she wanted to give him.

The bathroom door opened, and Oliver came out. He was bare-chested with a towel around his neck, and he was rubbing the ends of it over his eyes. She got up from the bed, crossed the room, and put her palms on his chest. His muscles were tight with tension. Her hands went to his belt buckle, and she deftly released the prong from the catch and began to pull the leather through the belt straps on his jeans.

He put his hands over hers and pressed down, stopping the belt. “What’s the hurry?” he asked.

“The hurry?” Felicity asked. “We’ve spent the last two months practicing how fast we could get each other naked. This is just a skill I’ve developed. It’s the pre-sex warm up.” She wiggled her fingers free of his grip and yanked the belt out.

 “So this is about sex, then?” he asked.

“Mmhmm,” Felicity said, giving him a teasing little pout. “Of course. Why are we arguing about this? Is the magic gone already?” She dug her fingers into the waist of his jeans and worked at the metal button.

“Hmm,” he said, relaxing and letting her undress him. She peeled the jeans down and then went for his boxer briefs. He was tucked snugly in there, but she noticed he wasn’t particularly aroused.

“I’m wearing green,” she said.

“I noticed.”

“That’s your color. I thought you’d like it,” she said.

“I do,” he said. “I like it a lot.”

“Feel,” she said and pulled his hand to the front of her nightie. The callouses on his fingers snagged up against the satin as they moved over the fabric.

“Nice,” he said. “Very nice.”

“Nice,” she said. “Nice. That’s all you’ve got to say?”

He put his hand underneath the satin and, reaching around her waist, pulled her to him with one hand. “The fabric is nice, and your body underneath it is gorgeous, and I know exactly how sexy it feels in my hands, inside and out, but I don’t want to talk about my feelings right now. I thought we discussed this softening up technique you’re using, and how I don’t love it.”

Felicity pressed her lips together. “Why do you think I’m softening you up?” she asked.

“‘I may be blond, but I’m not that blond,’” he said.

“Dig told you about that?” she asked.

“Uh huh,” he said. “He did.”

“You’re not blond,” Felicity said. “Although in the sun…”

“It lightens up. I know,” he said.

She peered up at him and smiled. “So you _don’t_ want to have sex?”

“I didn’t say that,” he said. “I said I don’t want to be manipulated and I don’t want to talk.” He took a deep breath. “You got the oils out. Sandalwood?”

Felicity nodded, sighing. “And lavender.”

“So much lavender lately,” he said.

“You like it. It helps you sleep,” she said.

“It does,” he said. “You know what else helps me sleep?”

“What?” she asked.

“You.”

She blew out the breath she was holding. “That’s just sex. Your brain releases oxytocin, vasopressin, and the hormone prolactin, among other chemicals, when you you know...”

“It’s not just sex,” Oliver said, “although that helps, I’ll give you that. It’s you there next to me, sleeping. Peacefully. Unafraid.”

And there it was: his anxiety. “You’ve never hurt me, Oliver,” she said. “Not in a nightmare, not in a dissociative state, like today. I know you worry, but I don’t.”

He straightened. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that.”

“Okay,” she said. “We don’t have to talk about your feelings, but can we talk about _my_ feelings about what happened today? Because I get a little concerned when this stuff happens. About you.”

He was torn, she could tell. But he didn’t object so she pushed it a little more. “I was there today to help you, to ground you, Oliver, but I’m not always going to be there.”

She thought he’d been tense before, but now he went completely still, and she realized what he was thinking and rushed into her explanation. “I’m not leaving you, Oliver. Of course, I’m going to be _there_ , but I probably won’t always be within a hundred yards of you when something in your environment triggers a terrible memory.

“I just think we need to work on ways for you to ground _yourself_ more when you sense these things happening. And - I know this is selfish - but I wish you’d share a little more of the burden with me. I’m not trying to dissect you psychologically, but I can see the power this has over you, and I want to help you beat it down. Isn’t that my job? As your Girl Wednesday?”

Oliver had that mulish look on his face. It was not her favorite look. He was not going to be coaxed. “Fine. If you won’t let me relax you, you can relax me,” she said. She grabbed the small jar of jojoba oil she’d already mixed the sandalwood oil into and put it into his hands. Then she flung herself down on the bed and pulled the nightie over her head. “It’s stressful, not knowing what to do to make you feel better.”

He didn’t do anything right away, and as she waited for his reaction she ticked off her options in her mind. Putting her clothes back on seemed anticlimactic. She could slink off to the bathroom and take a bath, though. Or she could pretend none of this conversation had happened and pull up the covers and get out her tablet. Before she’d decided how to casually pick up the gauntlet she’d thrown down, however, Oliver tipped the jar of oil into his hand and put his fingers into it. He made a twirling motion with his finger.

“Turn over,” he said.

She did, and a moment later, she felt the firm pressure of his hands on her lower back, pressing her into the sheets. He drizzled the oil onto her shoulder blades and then pushed his thumbs into the space underneath and dug into the tension there. She groaned. He was so good with his fingers, and the creamy, resinous smell of the sandalwood mixed with the smell of her body, its sweat and desire. She wriggled her hips, he put the flat of his hand against the small of her back to hold her in place.

“Come on, now,” he said. “You wanted to talk about your feelings, you said. Not have sex.”

“I can talk and have sex,” she said. “You know that.”

“I don’t want you to accuse me of not listening to what you have to say.” He straddled her back, keeping his weight on his thighs, leaned forward, and said, “I’m listening. You have my full attention.”

Felicity marshalled her thoughts together. “It’s like with my nut allergy,” she said. “I have it, and that’s why I have an epipen available - because if I didn’t, I could get really ill or maybe even die. It’s not my fault that I have an allergy - just like it’s not your fault you have PTSD.”

“Felicity,” he said.

She went on quickly. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed that the epipen in my purse gets switched out every six months and that there are epipens scattered about the lair...or were. There was even an epipen in the pocket of the Arrow suit. I found it once when I was cleaning the blood off of it.”

Oliver was silent behind her, but his hands were moving down her lower back and onto her upper thighs. “Oliver,” she asked, “why is that?”

“I don’t like to take chances with you,” he said finally.

“Exactly!” Felicity said. There was that firm hand again, pushing into her ass this time, as his fingers clenched around one thigh and kneaded. “Oh,” she said. “Mmmm.” She balled her hands into fists and dug her fingernails into her palms to stay focused. This was an important point she was making. “It’s the same. I don’t want to take chances with _you_. If we can be prepared ahead of time and maybe help stop some problems before they happen, that’s what I want.”

“It’s not the same,” he said.

She rolled over between his thighs and faced him. “It feels the same to me,” she said. “Scary. Helpless.”

His face was gentler now, not as remote as it had been, and she noticed that the front of his boxer briefs looked different too. She took his hands in hers and pulled them down to her breasts. “Can you just…” she asked, but he had already read her thoughts and was pulling his thumbs across her nipples and pressing his fingers lightly into her sides. He leaned in and put his lips on his favorite spot there on the side of her neck, and the stubble and the pressure of his mouth made her gasp. She felt him lick up to just underneath her ear, and he hovered, his weight on his hands, above her. She shivered as his warm breath filled the hollows there. God, even his breath was sexy. It wasn’t fair.

She loved it, but it wasn’t fair how he could turn her into a puddle of lust by _breathing_. How was she going to survive him?

She slid her hands into his boxer briefs and yanked them down. “Could you just put this into me?” she asked, clasping his cock lightly and caressing it. “I think that I would feel a lot better if you were inside of me and kind of moving in and out? Please?”

Oliver grinned at her. “Are we done, then, with the serious topics?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “I told you I can talk and have sex at the same time.”

“Yeah, but if it’s good sex, the quality of the discussion degrades,” he said. “I’ve noticed.” He opened her legs wider and pushed in, inch by inch. There he was, thick and hard, stretching her to accommodate his size, and she did actually feel safer being surrounded by him, full of him. It was so strange how this same experience - having sex - had made her feel vulnerable before, with other people. It made her feel powerful with him. He was channeling all of this muscle for one goal, she knew: to please her. And it certainly was working. She stretched out her leg behind his back to give him more access.

“So you’re saying,” she said, making an effort to control her breath, “that it’s okay for you to provide me with the tools to make sure I stay healthy - even going behind my back to do it.”

Oliver lowered himself onto his elbows and kissed her hard, pulling on her lower lip, as his cock pushed in and out, faster and angled to hit just right inside of her. Which felt _amazing_.  “It’s just an epipen, Felicity,” he said, breathing more heavily.

“An epipen you get without a prescription,” she said. “How--”

“You can get them in Canada without one,” he said. “It’s not that far.”

“It’s a hundred and fifty miles, Oliver,” she said. The thought that he was driving a hundred and fifty miles every six months or so to get those stupid epipens for her - and he had been for a long time now - it made her heart, and other parts of her body, clench. “If you get to do that for me…”

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I’ll let you read me **PTSD for Dummies** and seduce me into telling you all of my problems. Whatever you want. You win. Can we please just finish, though?”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and tightened her thighs around him. “Stop,” she said. “Stop for a minute.”

Oliver came to an abrupt halt. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “Am I hurting you?”

“You’re not hurting me,” she said, squeezing him hard. “This isn’t really about sex for me. I just want to feel close to you.”

“It would be hard to be any closer since I’m actually _inside of you_ ,” Oliver said, letting his breath out and rolling them onto his back.

“I mean, I want to _feel_ close to you. I’m not being critical, Oliver, but you have a tendency to spook, and sometimes skin-to-skin contact - well, I need it to feel more secure. It’s the only way I know that I can hold onto you - by literally holding onto you.” She reached down and touched his face gently.

He looked up at her, his blue eyes still and serious. “I’m not leaving again, Felicity. I’ve told you that. You’ve got me. If I go anywhere, it’ll be with you.”

"I know,” she said. “I know you’re not leaving, but parts of you leave all of the time or go behind that wall you put up to keep everything out. I need those parts too. If you can’t share them, then I need this instead.” She collapsed on his chest. “It was a long, long winter without you,” she whispered, “and I’m not doing that again.”

"You’re not going to have to,” he said. “Look, I know sometimes I’ve changed my mind with what we should do about this…about how we feel about each other...”

“If you mean 180-degrees, whiplash-inducing shifts at lightning speed, then yeah, you have. Multiple times,” Felicity said. “Not that I’m counting.”

“But that was because I was torn between being the Arrow and being myself, and I’m not the Arrow anymore. So there’s no conflict, and you’re not endangered by how I feel about you.”

“I get that, Oliver,” she said. “But you have a different kind of conflict now, and that’s how to let yourself be loved - all of you - and how to heal and enjoy life again.”

“And I’m working on that. I _am_ enjoying life.” He moved his hand down her back. “I’m enjoying being with you. This is the best I’ve felt in a long time and the happiest I’ve been, well, ever.”

“How can I help you, then?”

“You are helping me, Felicity,” he said. “If that’s what you want to do, you’re already doing it. If you want to _fix_ me, that’s going to take more time. I don’t really know if it’s possible, and I’m sorry I can’t be what you want.” He sighed, and she felt him slip out of her body as he moved his legs on the bed.

She felt the tears begin to pool in her eyes. How could she explain to him that she loved him as he was and she didn’t want to fix him, but she would like him to heal some of that pain that was stilling pulling and tugging on him? That sounded a lot like she wanted to fix him, though, when she thought it through. So she laid her head down onto his collarbone and let her tears trickle down her cheeks and drip onto his Bratva tattoo.

“You are what I want, Oliver,” she whispered, eyes closed. “And I love you so much it hurts.”

He pulled her tighter against his chest and kissed the top of her head. “I love you too,” he said. “More than anything.” 


	19. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity, the morning after a hard conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to work on my Olicity Fic Bang entry this week, but I didn't want to leave y'all hanging. So here's a little Olicity sweetness. See you next week.

The next morning dawned sunny again, as if the weather didn’t understand what a black cloud they were all living under now with Niemands on the loose and angry. The sun streamed in through the window, interrogating Felicity’s face, and she blinked at it and turned her head to the side. Oliver was stretched out beside her, gazing at her. There was no other word for it. He was full on _gazing at her_ , his blue eyes soft and shiny as iris petals underneath the slanted edges of those hard eyebrow ridges.

“Morning,” she said, reaching out to touch the strands of hair the barber had missed the last time Oliver had his hair cut. They were starting to curl into the shell of his ear.

“Hey,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

“You have? Why?” she asked.

“So you can tell me three good things about Felicity Smoak,” he said.

“Only three?” she said and smiled. Her cheeks pulled a little, still tender from the tears the night before. She stretched out her arm and wrapped it around his neck, feeling the muscles there flex as he smiled back.

“We’ll start with that,” Oliver said. “But you can’t say ‘My tech skills,’ so you’re going to have to think harder.”

She frowned. “Why can’t I say my tech skills? I’m great with computers.”

“Because it’s a given,” Oliver said. “It’s like mentioning the sky is blue. I want you to think of other things you’re good at. Like things you’re good at with me.”

She gave him a sly look. “Oh, in that case,” she said. “There’s that thing I do with my--”

“Non-sexual things, Felicity,” he said. “You never, _ever_ let me list sex stuff when you make me play this game.”

“Because it’s a given,” she said. “Were you always so good at sex? Were you always so good at _everything_?”

His lips twitched slightly. “No.”

“No? That’s it? No?”

 His lips twitched again. “Yes,” he said.

She pushed at his chest. “Okay, Mr. Laconic Boyfriend,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But don’t you think you’re being a little controlling? Three Good Things has to be natural and spontaneous.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

“‘You can’t say, “I’m tall,”’” he mimicked.

“Yeah, well,” she said with a shrug. “Height is not an objective good.”

“There are skills you won’t let me mention,” he said.

“Because ‘I’m good at shooting people,’ is not what you need to focus on in your personal repertoire of abilities or qualities,” she said.

“Oh, isn’t it?” he said, sliding his hand up her side. “It’s funny how the rules of this game keep changing. Who decides all this?”

“Who knows? I get a weekly email with the updates. You probably do too - if you ever checked your phone.”

Oliver laughed. “So you’re telling me last week “they” changed the instructions to not allow proficiency with weapons.”

She nodded. “Or the ability to belch the alphabet. These things happen. I can forward the email to you if you want to read it.”

His hand moved up to an area bordering on a ticklish zone, and she squirmed and then squashed her arm down hard on his hand.

“What?” he asked.

“You know what,” she said.

“I know you haven’t even named one good thing,” he said.

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Are you sure there’s a reason, or are you just putting me off because what’s good for the gander isn’t apparently good for the goose?” he asked.

“I’m sure,” she said. “Three Good Things is a fun game, but it’s not supposed to be about me.”

He stared at her, lifting an eyebrow in question. “That sounds like a double standard to me, Ms. Smoak. Come on now. Woman up. Three good things.” His fingers gave a hard nudge in that spot and she whacked them again with her elbow.

“Okay, okay! Uncle!” she said with exasperation. “I’ll come up with something, but the reason I haven’t yet is because the goal of this game is how to love _Oliver Queen_ more. And that’s why we play it when you’re struggling after an episode or with a hard memory. Because _you_ need help at that, not me.”

“How to love…” Oliver said, and he pulled his hand out from under her arm and gently cupped her face.

She nodded at him and watched the moisture pool in his eyes.

“I guess that’s true,” Oliver finally said. “If that is the goal, you don’t need any practice. You are the undisputed champion of that game.” And he pulled her into his chest and laid his chin on her head.

“See?” she said.

She felt his stubble prickle through her hair as he nodded. “I do,” he said. “But what about who loves Felicity Smoak the most? Isn’t there a game for that?”

In the warm shelter of his chest she softly kissed the tattoo above his heart and said, “There must be, or what else have you been doing to me all summer?”


	20. Self Defense for Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garnet, Ivy, May, and Aaron learn a little bit about self defense from Oliver.

The next morning was hot and humid, but the beans needed picking and the carrot patch needed weeding. The girls spent a couple of hours replanting lettuces and cilantro and cutting back the herb garden so it would produce more. Felicity helped May tie up bundles of sage, rosemary, basil, and lavender to hang upside down in the attic, and then she and Ivy put a lunch of bread and lentil soup together for everyone else. The girls were setting the picnic table outside with plates and bowls when Aaron and Oliver walked up.

“We need to get to work on your self-defense skills,” Oliver said to Aaron.

“Self defense?” Aaron asked. He laid his hoe carefully against the fence surrounding the herb garden and then leaned on it himself.

“Yeah,” Oliver said, “You need to know how to protect yourself from Niemands if he comes back.”

“You mean _when_ he comes back,” Garnet said, looking up at both of them.

Felicity bumped her in the elbow. “Don’t freak out your sisters,” she said quietly.

Garnet rolled her eyes at Felicity. “They’re young, not dumb. We all know he’s coming back. Aaron’s still here, and he’s a nut job. Speaking of which,” she said, turning to Oliver, “maybe you could teach us some self defense too.”

“Yeah, yeah!” May said and straightened her hands out. “Do you know that stuff?” She whacked Ivy in the arm. “Hi-yah!”

“Ow!” Ivy said, pulling her arm in protectively. “Knock it off, May.”

Oliver choked back a laugh but then looked confused. “You guys know the Muppets?”

Ivy frowned. “Who are the Muppets?”

Oliver pantomimed May’s karate chop. “Miss Piggy? Hi-yah?”

“Oh, that,” Ivy said. “No, that’s what Mom does to Dad when she thinks she’s being cute. Sometimes she does a little twirl thing too.”

“Like this?” Felicity wound herself up and karate chopped Oliver in the abs, and then put a hand over the muscles there. “Hi-ya,” she said with a smile.

“Kind of,” May said, “But choppier. The chopping is the main thing.”

“So can you teach us?” Garnet asked. “I don’t think self defense should be just for boys. Girls get into trouble sometimes too, right?”

“They do,” Felicity said, nodding. “Oliver?”

He thought about it. “I could go over a few things,” he said. “But you’ll have to change your clothes. I can’t teach you self defense if you’re wearing skirts.” He looked down at Felicity. “Not that I don’t appreciate them in general.”

“Okay!” Ivy said and ran into the house. Garnet and May followed, and in a few minutes they all came out dressed in jean shorts and Darke County Fair t-shirts.

“Is this all right?” May asked.

Oliver nodded. “Stand here,” he said, pointing to the line between the gravel and the grass. “You too, Aaron.” Aaron sighed but walked over.

“The first thing you need to know is how to get out of a bad spot,” Oliver said. “Everyone thinks knowing the right fighting techniques is important, but it’s better to avoid a fight, especially if you can’t win it.

“Fall down,” Oliver said.

“What?” Garnet asked.

“Fall down on your back, like this,” Oliver said, and he collapsed on the ground with his weight hitting in the center of his back. “You have to be able to do that without hurting yourself.”

Predictably, following this demonstration there was about five minutes of Ivy collapsing like she’d been struck by lightning and then Garnet telling her how she should be doing it while May giggled and Aaron looked unimpressed. Finally everyone got the hang of falling. Oliver then grabbed Ivy by the wrist and maneuvered her farther onto the grass.

“Situation awareness is important,” he said. “If you’re in a place you don’t know, keep your head on a swivel. You need to know what is going on around you. But if someone does manage to grab you, here’s how you get away even if that person is a lot bigger.” He held up Ivy’s hand.

“Fall,” he said.

Ivy fell back, as she had before, and now Oliver was hunched over as he held onto her. “Now, use your feet to kick my legs. You’ve got a lot more strength in your legs than in your arms, and you have the ground to brace yourself against. Kick me.”

Ivy gave his leg a couple of gentle kicks.

Oliver tilted his head at her. “Harder. I can take it. Kick me as hard as you can.” She kicked his shins and he winced a tiny bit, more for effect than in pain, Felicity thought.

“Good,” he said. “Get at least four solid kicks in. Kick until they let go of you. When that happens, you roll and go. Everyone practice rolling and getting on your feet.” The kids rolled around in the grass and Felicity hoped very hard that these were not the shirts they’d have to wear to the fair in a few days because she had no idea how to get grass stains out without using OxyClean or a dry cleaners.  

When they’d got the rolling part down, Oliver split them up in pairs: May with Ivy and Garnet with Aaron. “Now fall, kick, roll, and go!” he said.

“What if they don’t let us go?” Garnet asked after  they’d mastered this.

“Good question,” Oliver said. “If they keep trying to grab you or haul you up so they can run with you, here’s what you do: you hug the leg.”

“Hug the leg?” May asked. “You want us to hug them?”

“Yep. Come here,” Oliver said. May came over obediently. “Now when I grab you, you fall, but this time I’m not going to let go when you kick me. I’m going to keep trying to get you. When that happens, hug my leg as hard as you can with your arms and legs.”

They ran through that little routine, with May latching on like a tree monkey to Oliver’s leg. “Nice,” he said. He took a few awkward steps. “See how hard it is for me to move? I can’t control her and get her off my leg at the same time.” He tapped May gently on the head. “You okay?” When she nodded, he said, “Now here’s where you take control. You’re going to take me down, and, because your weight is so low to the ground, it will be easier. Let’s try this again. Ivy? Garnet? You too.”

Oliver grabbed May’s hand and she dropped to the ground and kicked at him. When he ignored that and dragged her closer, she twisted her whole body around him. Felicity watched as the other two girls mimicked this.

“Okay,” Oliver said. “Now make sure your head is on the outside of my leg and tilt your hips into my foot as you lean back again. I’ll overbalance, and you can roll and get away.”

May tilted in and rolled back and Oliver crashed to the ground behind her. “Now roll and run!” he said. May took off like a bat out of hell towards the house. Oliver hauled himself up and walked over to Ivy. “Hips all the way in. Your weight will do the work, not your arms.”

“Where did you learn how to do this?” Felicity asked him as he stood back and supervised. May was back, clapping her hands when Ivy toppled Garnet.

“I had a friend whose son was a little younger than Garnet. He trained him to protect himself when I was living with them,” Oliver said. His face fell a little, remembering, and Felicity felt bad for asking. Another bad memory; he had so many.

“It’s coming in handy now,” she said, squeezing his hand.

They all worked through variations of this new defense move until everyone had it down. Felicity practiced with Aaron and then Garnet, and Oliver paired up with everyone, and they all got to take him down. May climbed on his back when he had Ivy by the hand and karate chopped his shoulder. When he had to monkey walk to avoid crashing on top of Ivy, she wound her arms around his neck and laughed and laughed until Oliver crumpled on the ground, arms and legs all extended.

“This is all great and everything,” Aaron said when the girls had finally settled down, “but my uncle’s not going to grab me by the arm or anything. He’s probably going to shoot me in the back. I’d need to learn some superhero stuff to avoid that. Run faster than a bullet or whatever.”

“Like the Flash,” Garnet said.

“Your uncle’s not a super villain,” Oliver said. “He’s just a bad guy. And we’ll work on awareness and other fighting techniques together.”

“This is a little below the Flash’s pay grade,” Felicity said.

“How do you know how much the Flash gets paid?” May asked.

“Well, I don’t,” Felicity said, smiling, even though she totally did. “But it’s like Oliver said: Niemands isn’t a super villain.”

“The Flash isn’t real, anyway,” Garnet said. “He’s just pretend, May, like Anna and Elsa.”

“Or the Ninja Turtles,” Aaron said. “Just comic book stuff.”

“Well,” Felicity said, “Anna and Elsa may be fictional, but the Flash is real. I’ve seen him.”

“You’ve seen the Flash?” Ivy asked. Four sets of wide eyes were now turned to her.

“In Central City, yes,” Felicity said, realizing that this conversation might be more complicated than she anticipated. She thought quickly. “I was there when he ran by on his way to saving someone.”

“Is he really that fast?” Ivy asked.

“He’s unbelievably fast,” Felicity said.

“He’s not that fast,” Oliver said. “He just thinks he’s that fast.”

“He’s fast enough to stop a tidal wave,” Felicity said. “And fast enough to run up the side of a building. Or avoid a bullet.”

“Fast only gets you so far,” Oliver said. “Tactical awareness and planning--”

“How close were you when you saw him, Mrs. Queen?” Garnet asked. “Could you tell what he looked like? He looks like he’s handsome and strong from the pictures I’ve seen.”

“Where have you seen pictures of the Flash?” Oliver asked.

“At the library,” Garnet said in a pre-teen tone of voice. “Well?”

Felicity gave a side look to Oliver and couldn’t help herself. “He was handsome in person too.”

Oliver turned and gave her the are-you-kidding-me look. “From what I could see, that is,” she said. “From where I was. Very handsome.” She winked at Garnet. “Mr. Queen doesn’t know because he wasn’t there. And he’s a guy.”

“Don’t feel bad, Mr. Queen. You’re very handsome too,” Ivy said. She came over and touched his hand.

“Well, it’s not like we’re ever going to see a superhero here in Darke County,” Garnet said. “What would he do here anyway? Make the corn grow faster?”

“Most problems don’t need a superhero to solve them. You just need your family and your friends,” said May, hugging herself.

“Very true,” Felicity said. “But we do need to figure out what to do about Mr. Niemands. Oliver can help Aaron learn to defend himself more, and we can all be more aware of our surroundings, but it would help a great deal if we knew what Niemands might do over the next days and weeks.”

“Aaron’s the one who would know,” Oliver said, looking over to him. “Is there anything you can tell us?”

Aaron sat down at the picnic table. He picked up the loaf of bread and tore off the end chunk. “You got him in the arm, right? With an arrow?”

Oliver nodded. “He won’t be able to hold a gun with that hand for awhile.”

“Well, that’s good,” Aaron said. “He’s a bad dude. He’s great at being mean and kicking other people around, but he has a very low pain tolerance himself. He’ll moan about a stubbed toe or a headache. Once he burned himself in the bathroom, and he laid on the couch for days.”

“How do you burn yourself in the bathroom?” May asked, but no one answered her.

“Do you think he’ll try to get treatment for his arm?” Felicity asked.

“Oh, yeah. He can’t stand the sight of blood either, and he obsesses about his health too. It’s weird, considering his job and where he lives.”

Felicity nodded. “I’ll do a scan of hospital and clinic admissions and see if anyone has broken into a drug store or other venue for medical supplies. We know he’s still in his truck, even if it has different plates. He may try to ditch it, but he was looking pretty ghoulish, and I wouldn’t think he’d have it together enough to do that until his arm stops bleeding. So that may help the police find him.”

“Until they find him, you’re with me,” Oliver said and put his hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “I don’t think he’ll show up here again right away. He wasn’t expecting a fight.”

“He thought he could just grab me and go,” Aaron said bitterly.

“He thought wrong,” Oliver said. “Does he have any buddies who might help him out in his situation?”

“No,” Aaron said. “The people at his house were either other dealers or druggies. He doesn’t have any regular friends, and he’s not the type of guy to inspire loyalty either.”

“Good,” Felicity said. “The priority is keeping Aaron here safe, but we can handle this. Mr. Queen and I have to move out of the cabin anyway so the honeymoon couple can have it. Mr. Queen is going to stay in the barn, and I’m going to stay in the house.”

“You’re going to stay in the house?” May asked. “That’ll be fun!”

Felicity smiled at her. “Well, first we have to change all the bedding in the cabin. I’m not sure how fun that’s going to be.”

“We can have a slumber party,” Ivy said.

“Ooh,” May said. “A slumber party!”

Felicity looked over at Oliver and it was his turn to be amused. He held up his hands. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “You wanted to stay in the house.”

“We’ll talk about it,” Felicity said to the girls as she sat down at the picnic table. “After lunch is over.”

Ivy plopped down next to her on the bench. “Do you want to paint my nails first, or do you want me to do yours?” she asked.

Oliver, the wretch, actually laughed out loud.

  
  
  
  


  
  



End file.
